Broken Alliance
by Mirrordance
Summary: Concluded! A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, creating a war between the races. Aragorn and Legolas must now face the only foe that could possibly defeat them in battle: each other.
1. The Killings

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliances

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

Part 1: The Killings

___

Murder in Mirkwood

___

      Legolas and his party of four other riders knew at once that something was amiss in their kingdom when they reined in their horses at the stables of the palace and was immediately engulfed in a flurry of anxious, lowered voices.  There was a tension in the air that was almost stifling, breaking the usual routines that the elves of Mirkwood had greeted their everyday with.  

      Legolas looked at the elves he had just arrived with, coming from a patrol of the eastern borders with curiously, but of course none of them would know what this was all about.

      "Porter," Legolas called upon the stable hand who was holding the reins of his horse as he dismounted.

      "Milord?" the elf replied.

      "What is going on?" Legolas asked, "We had come from the eastern border patrol."

      "My prince, you've not yet heard?" exclaimed the porter, "Your cousin Lord Rios, he has been slain."

      "By whom?" asked Legolas, alarmed.  Rios was young, for an elf.  Quiet and introverted, always off in walks even in the still-relative peril of these woods.  He never got in anyone's way, never got into fights or arguments, he seldom even _spoke_ or was seen, to the consternation of his loving, doting mother.  

      "I do not know for certain," replied the porter, "but they say it was a man.  I heard this _human_," he slurred the word as if it tasted vile, "slew Lord Rios with his bare hands, _inside_ our borders! The southern patrol captured him, and brought him before your father."

      Legolas turned away from the porter and stalked towards his father's court, leaving his companions murmuring in surprise and dismay, that a human could not only trespass into their territory unnoticed, he could even kill an elf, for all of their skills and agility.

      Legolas had been around men long enough to know what they were capable of.  What made his heart hammer, was what all this anger and dismay could eventually result into.  Times had changed since Sauron's time, when the enemy was made clearly known, and so was the cause to defeat him.  Now was a time of complicated politics, that entailed a lot of strange rules and complications.

      The Prince of Mirkwood paused before the barred doors of the court.  It was often open, save for whenever King Thranduil was in the middle of important, secret sessions with his advisors, or, as Legolas knew _very_ well, when it was time to scold his often-wayward son and heir.  

      "Let me pass," Legolas commanded the two guards outside the door quietly, and they did as they were told, the prince immediately stepping into the grand hall and walking forward, towards his father's throne as the door behind him shut close.

      Thranduil glanced up at his son, before turning to the human that was on his knees before the throne, hands bound behind him.  His clothes were torn, and looked like he had taken some beating, although it was glaringly apparent that some of the blood on his clothes and skin must have belonged to Rios.

      "That elf killed my brother," the man was saying, his voice ragged as he ranted savagely, "He deserved nothing less than what I had given him.  And _I_, I deserve my justice.  _My family_ deserves the justice that I have bought with my own two hands.  He deserved to die."

      "That's impossible," Legolas interjected, barely noticing his father sigh in dismay for his impudence, "The elf you killed is named Rios, he is very young and quiet, and he had never even held a weapon in all of his life."

      The man turned to face the new arrival, and his eyes lit with hope, "You are the elf Legolas," he said, awed, "A hero of the fellowship! You have a love for justice.  Surely you must understand me! You are a friend to men, you are a friend to my King!"

      _Aragorn_, Legolas thought miserably, _Why did this foolish man have to come from Gondor or Arnor? Such ridiculously unnecessary complications in our lives_… 

      The man's attention was now focused solely on Legolas, his wild eyes searching the elf's almost pleadingly, "I've seen you in our lands often.  My people adore you, and you have always seemed very kind and fair to us.  I beg of you, listen to me."

      Legolas glanced up at his father, "I fear the only concessions you may ask for are to come only from my father, the King."

      Thranduil nodded at him approvingly, making him feel like a child-elf, as if his father were surprised that he had a shred of propriety in his being after all.

      "State your name," Thranduil commanded.

      "I am Leon… sire, from Arnor," he replied hesitantly.  It chilled Legolas that this wild man seemed to find reassurance in his presence, when he knew that he had no promises to give; the man had killed an elf, and it only meant either imprisonment or death.

      "You say the Lord Rios killed your brother," said Thranduil, "how can you claim this?"

      "I saw with my own eyes," Leon replied, "It was in Bree.  There are not very many elves who come through there, so you could see one right away if they did come."

      Bree had always been, even during the War of the Ring, an active hub of commerce, a strategically-located stop between very important trade routes.  Indeed there were few elves that traded with men and other races there, or anywhere else for that matter, but some did exist.  They had become more reclusive since the days of active exchange with the dwarves in Moria, years and years and lifetimes ago.

      "There would be some elves who come through there," murmured Thranduil, "but to an absolute certainty, not Rios.  He has confined himself to within our borders, and only in his own company."

      Leon blinked.  "That is not possible.  I saw with my own eyes..." he started to sound uncertain, "I saw... He killed my brother.  I saw with my own eyes!"

      "What did you see?" snapped Thranduil, "golden hair? Fair skin? A quiver with bows and arrows?"

      "Yes…" replied Leon haltingly, "That is what I saw…"

      "Look about you, you fool!" exclaimed Thranduil, motioning for all the golden-haired, fair-skinned elves that surrounded Leon, "You had killed the wrong elf, if ever there was one who was worthy of your crazed revenge!"

      "It's not my fault!" Leon retorted, "The elf killed my brother, he truly did.  It was my right to get revenge.  It was my mother's right that her son's killer be put to death! It is not my fault you all look the same," he glanced at Legolas, "except for him, whom I've often seen.  All you blasted elves look the same! It's not my fault!"

      Thranduil's eyes narrowed threateningly at him, "You should have thought of that before you slew one of our own."

      The doors to the halls opened suddenly, and one of Thranduil's captains walked quickly towards the King, and murmured something near his ears.

      Thranduil suddenly rose from his seat and pointed a long, angry finger at the human.  His face and voice were as even as the most aloof and regal of elves, but his eyes burned with an angry fire, "Throw that vile thing into the darkest dungeons, I do not want to see his face."

      His soldiers acted quickly, pulling Leon to his feet, and hurrying out the hall.  They knew a smoldering, kingly rage when they saw one.  As the last of the soldiers left, Legolas watched his father's face, as Thranduil sat back on his throne.

      ~We now know how he has entered our borders,~ the King said after a moment, shifting to their native Elvish, ~The western border patrol has not reported back in, and have been found murdered as well.  All five of them.~

      ~How could that be?~ Legolas whispered.

      ~The human was made strong by his madness and grief, crazed with his passions,~ sighed Thranduil, ~that much I could see.  But when he killed my nephew, and my soldiers, and broke into our borders, he set his stupid personal little battle against _me_ and _our_ kingdom, and that no madness could excuse.  I could not forgive it.  He will be sent to the executioner, as soon as this issue is made known to the King of Gondor and Arnor.~

      ~Elessar would ask you to bring Leon into their custody,~ pointed out Legolas, ~He would want to uphold his own human justice upon this murderer.~

      ~And he would be fair, that is certain,~ said Thranduil, ~he has such grace and wisdom… But I would not have it.  Our people would not have it.  We are deeply offended by this, and want this human subject to our punishments.~

      ~This would cause undue tension,~ Legolas said cautiously, ~Estel may accept your decision but his people would not be very pleased with it.  They generally prefer to subject their criminals to their own justice.~

      ~I know,~ Thranduil said wearily, looking at his son, ~But I want this human punished and slain here, where I know for a certainty that it will be done.  You may not understand why yet, my son.  Elessar may not.  But I know I want him killed before my very eyes.~

      ~Then make me understand,~ Legolas insisted, ~This is all so unnecessarily complicated.~

      Thranduil paused, weighed the words in his head.  ~You are impudent and I have a feeling that you may have been around men and dwarves so much that you are starting to share their passions and stubbornness.

      ~But,~ Thranduil continued, ~If today, by some wild chance, you had been assigned to the western patrol instead of the east, it would truly pain me to have lost you.~

      Legolas was at a loss for words.

      "Ada…"

      ~He had come too close to my own blood,~ said Thranduil harshly, _my own heart_, he meant, ~He will be dealt with swiftly, severely and most definitively.~

      Legolas looked at him intently.  ~I understand,~ said Legolas, ~But I wish to be the one to inform Estel.~

      ~Times are dangerous,~ Thranduil said at once, ~And humans would not be pleased with us once word gets around that we are to execute a human, who only sought justice for his slain brother.  'Tis not safe.  I forbid you to go.~

      ~Elessar is a friend to me,~ Legolas said, ~And the people of Gondor and Arnor have no cause against me, I am there often enough for them not to have any fear of me.  If anyone of us there is safe, it is I.~

      Thranduil frowned.  ~You would only insist more if I try to persuade you further.~

      ~Do I have your leave?~ Legolas asked, almost smiling though he restrained himself.

      ~You never do,~ sighed Thranduil, ~But it has never stopped you before.  At least this time, I can force you to bring a band of guards.~

      ~I hate traveling so conspicuously,~ Legolas protested.

      ~Did you or did you not ask for my permission?~ snapped Thranduil in his most Kingly fashion.

      ~I did, Your Highness,~ replied Legolas miserably, ~Thank you.~

___

Gondor

___

      Argorn graciously welcomed his old friend to his receiving hall, rising from his throne and meeting him at the very door, engulfing him in an embrace.  Arwen, who trailed behind him quietly, restrained herself to a delighted smile.

      ~What brings you here?~ Aragorn asked, pulling away from Legolas.

      ~You have welcomed me so warmly and I regret I have nothing but ill tidings to give you,~ winced Legolas, shifting tongues, "I bear a message from King Thranduil."

      Aragorn frowned.  The last time the elf had brought a message from his father was at the Council of Elrond, when the fellowship of the ring was formed years ago.  His message was that Gollum had escaped from his arrest in Mirkwood.  

      "Some days ago," said Legolas, "there was a murder in Bree.  An elf killed a man, and had vanished from sight.  The man's brother, however, had seen the murder and traveled to Mirkwood for revenge."

      "So you have waylaid him in Mirkwood?" asked Aragorn, sighing inwardly with relief.

      "That's not all," Legolas said quietly, "He killed five of our western border patrol to enter our realm, and murdered my cousin Lord Rios, whom he mistakenly thought was his brother's killer.  My father told me to inform you that this man will be executed, as soon as I return to Mirkwood with your tidings."

      "I understand why the King Thranduil would desire to punish this human in your courts," said Aragorn tentatively, "You can tell him that.  But you know I am obliged to request that you turn him over to us.  I guarantee he will be dealt with fairly."

      "The King recognizes your grace and fairness," said Legolas, "But the act committed by the human is grave and publicly known.  It is not only the King's wish that he be executed in Mirkwood, but it is also what our people desire."

      "I understand," Aragorn nodded, "But I request the presence of human representatives to oversee that he gets a just trial.  While I am certain that your people are wise and fair, they could formally attest to it upon their peers and kin, and my people would not have to rely upon my word alone.  As you can see, my position in this matter is rather compromised."

      Legolas understood all too well; when anger at the elves boils over, the people of Gondor and Arnor would be profoundly displeased over the fact that their King grew up with elves, are dear friends with several, and is even wed to one.  They might believe his loyalties are not where they should lie.

      "Of course," said Legolas, expelling a relieved breath.  The issue was now practically out of their way…

      "His family also needs to be informed," said Aragorn cautiously, "This duty I can do on my own…"

      "I wish to go with you," said Legolas quickly, "It is only responsible that we have the courage to stand up for our decisions, after all.  It would be cowardly not to have to face them."

      "They obviously will not be pleased to see you," said Aragorn, "but I see where you are coming from.  This is at Bree, you say?"

      "Yes," said Legolas, "The man's name is Leon, of Arnor."

      "Sire," said one of Aragorn's personal guards, a man named Sergio, "You need not travel.  We can simply summon them here."

      "No," said Aragorn with finality, "This family has already lost a son to murder.  Today, they will be informed that they will lose another to the executioner's block.  'Tis the least we could do to be the ones to go to them."

___

Arnor

___

      Under Aragorn's masterful, dependable hands, the once-vanquished kingdom of Arnor thrived once more and rose in even greater beauty, in the short years it has fallen within the Reunited Kingdom.

      The King Elessar with his guards, and the Prince of Mirkwood with his own men, made a glorious sight as they traveled across the countryside in the colors of their realms and in splendid horses and armor.  Towns they passed cheered as they went, children trailing after them happily.

      ~I do not wish this crowd to be there when the news breaks,~ said Legolas to Aragorn.

      ~I must admit,~ said Aragorn, ~Often war is so much simpler than politics; we are kings and we may appear to rule over our people, but we must recognize that it is them we serve.~

       The group rode on, until they reached a small farm at the outskirts of the main cities.  They passed fields that were being worked upon by several men, and surrounded a humble wooden home, where an old woman awaited their arrival at her door.

      They pulled to a stop before her, and she recognized her King and bowed her head before him humbly.

      "What may I do for you, sire?" she asked, her voice cracked and wiry.  She was glaring at the elves suspiciously.  From inside the house, four adolescent boys came up behind their woman, as the farmhands stepped forward to see what was happening as well.  Aragorn looked upon their faces and saw how similar in features they were.  The man who would be executed—Leon, had ten brothers, aside from the one who was slain.

      "I have news of your son, Leon," said Aragorn.

      "He has been gone awhile," the woman conceded, "Does he live?"

      _Why could she not have asked some other question?_

      "He trespassed into the realm of Mirkwood," Aragorn replied, evading her question, "And killed five elf soldiers, and the nephew of the King Thranduil."

      _Did her eyes glint in appreciation, there?_, wondered Aragorn as he watched her face,_ In pride? In bitter fulfillment?_

      She eyed the elves mockingly, "One of us against six of them.  It can be so easy, couldn't it?" She spat on the ground, willing to get a rise out of them, but it was Aragorn's guard Sergio who put a hand upon the hilt of his sword threateningly.

      "One does not do that in the presence of the King," he told her flatly, and she had to hesitate, even just a little.

      Aragorn raised a hand to appease his wary guards.  "She will be excused, for now.  It is plain to me that this woman is in pain and anger.  She will learn not to take advantage of our generosity," he said, looking pointedly at the woman.

      "The elves killed one of my sons," she gulped, "and Leon merely avenged him.  They deserved whatever they got."

      "Leon killed the wrong elf," Aragorn told her, "And did not seek justice in the proper courts.  He has been arrested and will most likely be executed."

      Her face contorted.  "Executed? Executed? So what if he killed the wrong elf, they are all of them the same! So arrogant, so intrusive a race! They all deserve to die! They killed my boy! Now they will kill another?! And what of the fact that he did not pursue justice in the proper way? Where do we hope to get justice, sire? From you? You with your elf friends and your elf hoar—"

      Sergio put the blade of his sword against her throat.  Her sons tensed to attack him, and Aragorn's and Legolas's guards raised their weapons to calm them.

      "Bite your tongue, woman," Aragorn snapped lethally, "You forget your place.  But you are certainly not allowed to forget mine, or my family's.  You also forget that it is by the grace of the elves that we have lived through many of our trials.  You forget a whole lot of things," to his soldiers, he said, "Lower your weapon, Sergio."

      The loyal guard did as he was told.  

      "We came here to formally inform you of your son's transgression," said Aragorn tightly, "And to assure you that his trial will be fair.  It will be held in Mirkwood, but he will have the best human lawyers there are in our land to ensure that his rights will be upheld, and all avenues of this grievous crime is examined.  We did not come here to be disrespected by you."

      Chastisement from the King was enough to make the woman curb her language although she could not help but continue, "And what of the elf murderer who killed my first son? This damned fate is mocking me! I will have two dead sons and that elf is running about freely! That race," she spat out the word, "is death to my family!"

      "He will be searched for," Legolas told her softly, "And held accountable for his actions."

      She looked at him scornfully.  "I've stopped believing in your race's honor and promises," she said harshly, before grudgingly admitting, "But you, Prince, you I trust.  I have a feeling you understand us."

      Legolas refrained from wincing.  Why did this crazy family have to look at him like a ray of hope? 

* * *

      The entourage left the farm, and made camp just outside of the city.  When evening fell, Legolas joined Aragorn in his tent for a private dinner, while their men did the same outside.

      "Even with the fairest trial in all the lands," Legolas said, "It is a certainty that he will be executed.  It is a vile crime indeed, isn't it, Aragorn?"

      "All murder is," the King replied.

      "After he is dead," Legolas said, "I will accompany the return of his body to his family.  I hope to see you then, so at least the long trip promises some joy, in the pleasure of your company."

      "I would not have you pass through my lands without ever setting eyes on you," smiled Aragorn, "you know that."

      They ate in companionable silence for a few moments.

      "Where do you plan to search for the murderer?" Aragorn asked, "I heard your voice as you spoke to Leon's mother.  There was a promise there.  And your word, I know you never break."

      Legolas expelled a breath.  "In Bree, I suppose.  But Leon's description is not very helpful at all.  Blonde hair, fair skin… for all intents and purposes, he could have been referring to me."

      "Why would an elf kill a man," reflected Aragorn, "Our contact is already so limited nowadays, it doesn't make any sense at all that an elf would do something like that suddenly."

      "You think only of the elves you know," Legolas pointed out, "there is Lord Elrond and his sons," he enumerated, "the elves of Lothorien and of course, myself and my kin.  You've not come across the kind that refuses to go into the fold."

      "Refuses to go into the fold?" Aragorn inquired.

      "We are not all of us the same," Legolas told him, "Some elves are not so complacent.  Some seek adventure.  Some seek fortune.  Some seek a more independent, egalitarian lifestyle, away from kings and hierarchies that we both know are prevalent in our traditions.  They are rogues, if you will.  Such strange crimes I would not put beyond them."

      "There are not very many such elves around," said Aragorn.

      "You are correct," affirmed Legolas, "In thousands of years of life, one learns that in the end, you just really have to be one among your own kind and content with it, or face the grief of constant loss and wandering."

      "Does that make you a rogue?" teased Aragorn, "you've not learned that part yet."

      Legolas laughed, "As I said, I enjoy the pleasure of your company."

* * *

      At daybreak, Aragorn and his soldiers made their way towards Bree to gather some information at the Prancing Pony Inn.  It seemed nothing more than a typical inn in a busy, bustling city, but it was the best hub for intelligence, filled as it was with happy drunks and all sorts of other people from all across Middle-Earth.  In the meantime, Legolas and his group headed towards the direction of Mirkwood to consult with his father about the upcoming trial and discuss the conditions King Elassar had proposed.  It is along this road that they sensed they are being followed.

      ~Humans,~ one of Legolas's guards said distastefully, ~they are foolish enough to think they are discreet.~

      ~Perhaps they are merely curious about us,~ another guard said.

      ~No,~ said yet another, ~They have been trailing us for some time.  They feel… familiar.~

      ~It is the murderer's family, isn't it?~ Legolas asked quietly.

      ~A family of fools,~ retorted his soldier, ~They have the gall to attack us.  They will, my lord, you'll see.~

      ~I know,~ said Legolas, ~I can feel it.  But be gentle with them.  Do not kill them.  They are acting on blinding grief.  Do not make that woman right.  We will not be the death to that family.~

      ~They are death to their foolish selves,~ said a soldier.

      ~Show them mercy,~ Legolas reminded his soldiers again, just as the ten brothers sprang from the woods and attacked the party with swords and axes.

      Legolas immediately sought his swords, for the battle was a close-contact kind.  He aimed at legs and arms, and pulled back his usually keen, vicious, lethal thrusts.  He did not want the fools to die, he merely wanted them to learn that their brutal ways would not get them anywhere.  Unfortunately, one of his soldiers did not have the same amount of control, and one of the young men was skewered with a sword.

      ~I said do not kill them!~ Legolas shouted over the din.

      ~Someone ought to tell them not to kill us!~ the soldier cried desperately, as he turned on the defensive and parried with all his might.  

      The elves were undoubtedly skilled, but a heroic restraint against a passionate resolve resulted only in the downfall of the elves, who up until the end, yielded to the orders of their Prince and refused to slay the madly fighting humans.

      ~No!~ Legolas yelled, his eyes bulging in horror as another one of his men fell.  One by one did they all fall, even the Prince of Mirkwood soon found himself on one knee on the ground, holding his bleeding side as three swords were pressed threateningly against his throat.

      "Do not move!" one of the humans said to Legolas's soldiers, "or the Prince dies."

      Slowly, the elves froze and lowered their weapons.

      "This is the one, right?" one of the younger-looking boys murmured to his older brothers.

      "No!" exclaimed one of Legolas's guards, "I am the Prince.  Set him free."

      "Don't you lie!" yelled one of the brothers to the guard, stabbing him through the heart.

      "You bastard!" exclaimed Legolas, struggling to his feet, only to be kicked back down.  Eyes watering in rage and grief, he watched as one of his loyal guards sank to the floor with blank eyes, to join the several elves who had also died in the melee when they followed _his_ orders and deigned to kill the humans.

      "Do not hurt him too much," said the tallest, burliest one, "He is our bargaining chip."

      "I would willingly go with you," said Legolas breathlessly, "If you would set what's left of my men free."

      "No," said the burly one, "they die here.  As a lesson to all elves who meddle in the business of men."

      "Meddle?!" Legolas exclaimed angrily, pushing himself to his elbows, "Your fool of a brother brought us into your _damned_ affairs when he slew our people!"

      One of the brothers hit him with a back hand across the face, sending him to the ground again.

      "You will not speak of Leon in this way," he said lethally.

      "We must not tarry," the eldest interrupted, "Kill the soldiers quickly."

      "Do not kill them!" protested Legolas, "I will come willingly with you, please.  Please.  Show them your mercy.  They certainly showed you theirs, we acted solely in the defensive, surely you too must have noticed this! Show them the mercy they had shown you!"

      "They will die," the man said simply.

      Gathering his strength with his potent anger, Legolas threw himself against the eldest man with a cry, and grabbed the man's own dagger to kill him with.  Legolas ran the blade clear across the man's throat, knowing by the sight of the spurting and pooling blood that he would be dead in moments.  But one success would not be good enough to turn the tide of this battle.  By now, numbers and strength were in favor of the humans, if not the skills.

      Legolas was hastily overpowered, hit repeatedly and made to kneel before them and watch as each of his soldiers were brutally executed.  Struggling for all he was worth, four of the humans could barely restrain him in his rage.

      "Hit him, for god's sake," yelled one of the brothers who had one of his arms.

      One of the brothers took a solid, iron grip against Legolas's throat.  His eyes watered as his fingers closed around Legolas's neck tightly.

      "You killed Jaime," he said softly, "You will pay."

      "Do not kill him, Sisto," a small voice said, or maybe the voice was not really so small, just moving distantly as Legolas began to fade and choke, "We need him to ransom Leon from Mirkwood…"

      But the grip would not ebb.

      "Don't kill him, Sisto…" said the voice again.

      But the world still crumbled into a silent, forbidding darkness.

* * *


	2. The Ransom

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliances

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

* * *

Part 2: The Ransom

* * *

      '_I think he is waking_…'

      The voices around him drifted, and his mind struggled to grasp at their reality, willing himself to focus, though the darkness was strong and forceful, even if it wasn't inviting.

      '_I told you he wasn't dead_…'

      Legolas wondered dimly if they were talking about him, as he struggled to open his eyes.

      '_I don't think he's waking after all_,…'

      '_He was already out, Sisto, you shouldn't have hit him again_…'

      '_Shouldn't have hit him? We damn well should have killed him!'_

_      I think they're talking about me._

      At last he opened his eyes, though the sight before him was much like the darkness.  He looked around him blearily, blinking to clear his vision.  He seemed to be in some sort of a cave, with its sole opening blocked by a curtain of falling water.  He felt stiff, and tried to move until he noticed that his arms were bound over his head, and he hung a small distance off the ground.  He looked up at the metal shackles about his wrists, and followed the length of the iron bands that were clamped along the roof of the cave.

      "What do you want?" he spoke, disliking the sound of his raspy voice, barely recognizing it as his own.

      He watched as his captors surrounded him, their eyes glinting in the darkness.  They were indeed the brothers, only there was just nine of them left, with the eldest dead.

      The man who tried to choke him in anger—Sisto?--was the eldest now, it seemed.  He was the one the others to look to for leadership.

      "We want your blood, elf," Sisto told him maliciously, moving so close that their faces were inches apart, "but we need you alive… for now."

      He drew out a knife from his boot, letting its edge run lightly across Legolas's cheek as he watched the elf's eyes, hoping to find a fear—a satisfaction that Legolas would not give him.

      Sisto grabbed the elf by the hair, taking a fistful near his nape.  Then he ran his blade through the mass none-too-gently, cutting the hair roughly, and some of the skin beneath it, drawing some blood.

      "This is a gift for your father the King," Sisto explained, "We will seek a bargain with him.  My brother's life, for his son's."

      "You do not wish to court my father's wrath anymore than you already have," said Legolas coolly, "He may give you what you want, but I can guarantee you will not live for very long after.  That is… if you even survive the journey to my kingdom in the first place.  It's a perilous road."

      "Thank you for your concern," Sisto snapped, "But you had better wish we survive, and that your kin can read the map we made of your prison, which we will give them when our brother is given amnesty and freed into our custody.  Because if not… well… let's say the rainy season comes in a few days' time-- earlier if you're unlucky-- and then the water thickens and rises with silt from the mountains, and this cave becomes completely submerged.  With you in it."

      Sisto took a piece of ragged cloth from his pocket.  He let his fingers run through them for a moment, before he used it to gag Legolas with.  The cloth smelled of blood.

      "This is drenched in Jaime's blood," Sisto said harshly, "We placed it upon his neck when we tried to save him.  You will smell it, and taste it, until you are freed or dead from drowning.  But I guarantee you will never forget it."

      To his brothers, he said, "Come.  We leave."

      "Sisto…" one of his younger siblings hesitated, "What if he dies before the other elves find him? These waters are freezing, and he will have nothing to eat…"

      "If he dies before they find him then it's only because they are too slow," snapped Sisto, "And they say elves can withstand unimaginable conditions.  Either way, I don't care.  I prefer that he dies, but I would rather free Leon first, and they may want us to prove that the Prince still lives."

      The men headed towards the mouth of the cave, one by one going through the curtain and fading from sight.  The younger one who had complained to Sisto was about to follow, before he paused and turned towards Legolas guiltily.

      "You killed Jaime," he said softly, "But I know of what you had given to our human causes.  It's a shame, that things must turn out this way.  But you should not have expected us to lie still if we knew we could save Leon.  I'm sorry.  Our hands are just as forced by fate as yours must have been, when you killed our brother to save your men."

      "Tristan!" Sisto called to him from outside.

      "I hope they do find you alive," the boy said to Legolas, before nodding at him and walking away.

___

Bree

___

      While Elessar glowed distinctly from any crowd by the strength of his presence, Strider chose to blend in and watch the world with his keen, knowing eyes.  Both roles suited Aragorn like a second skin, each of his names lending a facet to his complex being.

      The Prancing Pony Inn was as wild and busy as ever, and he leaned back with a pipe as Strider, comfortably blending into the scene with his men, taking over a corner table.

      The atmosphere was as jovial as it always was, though he sighted that an argument was brewing at the table next to theirs.

      "It is genuine, I tell you!" one man said, pounding down his fist, his brew spilling from his pint.

      "Do I look like a fool?" yelled his companion, "You'd have had to kill a damned elf to get that pretty prize, no one of them would willingly yield it!"  
      "You think I couldn't kill an elf?" said the man proudly, "I did, I did! I took this from him.  And now I'm selling it to you at a bargain prize."

      Aragorn knew the man was lying, by the way his eyes moved.  But the man did look to be carrying a genuine, elf-crafted sword.  Much like the ones that Legolas and his soldiers carried.  But it couldn't be from them, surely.  This crazed drunkard wouldn't even get close.  But the conversation intrigued Aragorn, and he rose from his seat and sauntered over, trailed by his men.

      "A genuine-elf sword, you say?" he asked, "I wish to see it."

      "I do not trust you strange drifters," the man drawled, "get away from me, I'm conducting business here."

      "Did you really kill an elf?" Aragorn asked.

      "You think I couldn't?" exclaimed the man, "I could pick 'em apart in my sleep! I have more than this one sword here.  There's more where this good quality pieces have come from! I killed 'em all!"

      "I wish to buy all of it," Aragorn told me, "for whatever price you name.  But I want to verify if it's genuine first."

      The man's eyes narrowed at Aragorn's shadowed face, mostly obscured by his dark hood.  "You do not look like you have that much money," he said, but offered the sword to Aragorn, "Careful with the merchandise."

      Aragorn studied the blade.  It was in perfect condition, well-kept.  Well-crafted and very, very distinctly elvish.  The other man had been right, when he said that one could not take such a prize piece from an elf, unless one slays the elf.  The idea was giving him a churning feeling.

      "From where did this come?" Aragorn asked in a low voice.

      "I said I killed them elves!" the man yelled impatiently.

      Aragorn pulled back his hood and grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him towards his face, and holding the tip of the sword against the man's neck.

      "S-s-sire…" the man choked, recognizing his King.  The Inn quieted quickly, and stared at Aragorn in awe.

      "Tell me again, that you killed elves to get this," Aragorn said, daring the man to lie to his King.

      "I… I did not…" the man stammered, blinking and trying to regain his senses, trying to vanquish all traces of alcohol from his muddled brain.

      "From where did you get these?" Aragorn asked him, shaking him once, impatiently.

      "S-some b-b-back-country folk.  They came to my store with several of these," replied the man shakily, "With sets of bows and arrows, and elf armor.  I had to clean the blood off it, but it looked like the real thing.  So I bought it from them and brought it here to trade."

      "Who were these folk?" Aragorn asked lethally, thinking about Legolas and his small band of escorts.  It couldn't be.  No small human force could make them fall…

      "There was nine of them," replied the man, "brothers, from how they looked.  They wanted to barter for orc-crossbows, collections which I acquired from the War of the Ring.  They also wanted armor that could fit their physique, and some provisions.  They seemed like they were at the start of a journey."

      _Or a war_, Aragorn thought darkly. 

      The King pushed the man aside, and turned to his soldiers.

      "We pay the mother another visit."

___

Mirkwood

___

      Thranduil looked at the humans with disgust, as he sat mightily upon his throne.  

      "We are Leon's brothers," Sisto said.  The Elf-King's presence was just that even his confidence shook, even if just slightly.

      "I know," Thranduil told him coldly, "And now here you are, to plead his case, surely."

      "You can say that," Sisto said wryly.  He and his brothers were clutching strange, bulky sacks that they refused to yield to the border guards who had brought them to the King's presence.  Confident that they could handle whichever strangeness the humans brought with them, Thranduil allowed the sacks to remain in the hands of the eight brothers.

      "Is that a present for me?" Thranduil asked flatly.

      Sisto almost grinned.  "Now you can _truly_ say that."

      He turned the sack he held upside down, and two decapitated elf-heads hit the ground with a sickening bounce.  His brothers followed suit with the sacks they carried.  Thranduil's eyes widened in rage and he rose threateningly from his throne, as the soldiers about the humans readied their weapons, though held their ground as they waited for an order from the King.

      "We have come to return your soldiers, sire," Sisto said boldly, "And to tell you that unless you give amnesty to Leon, and freedom for us all to leave your Kingdom, and your solemn vow never to pursue us and disrupt our lives, your son will be joining these unfortunates in the… what's that place? The Halls of Mandos, they say?"

      Thranduil's face contorted in a dreadful scowl.  "You are a disgusting, shameful people with no honor."

      "But we still have your son," Sisto pointed out, "Now you don't have much time.  You see, we have arranged conditions such that time is of the essence."

      "Tell me where my son is," Thranduil commanded, threateningly moving close, "And I will ensure that the passing of you and _all_ your brothers will be quick and painless."

      "Your time is running out," Sisto said flatly, drawing out Legolas's hair from his pocket.  He had tied a crude knot about the smooth, golden strands, and tossed it to Thranduil, who caught it cleanly, and held it reverently.

      "Our lives for your son's," Sisto said, "You're a father.  You shouldn't even have to think about it."

      Thranduil's jaw set.

      "Your time is running out," Sisto said again.

      "Fine," said Thranduil, "You get what you want.  But this doesn't end here.  You had better believe I will find a way around you."

      "In the meantime," said Sisto wryly, "Set up those amnesty papers, arrange for our safe passage, and show us that our Leon is alive and well."

      Thranduil gave a barely-perceptible nod to one of his men, then led the way towards the dungeons.  All eight other brothers trailed, as well as the King's wary guard.  Other guards reverently held the heads of their fallen comrades, looking at each other with fear, uncertainty, grief, and great anger.

* * *

      The thick dungeon doors parted, and the sight that greeted the new arrivals was horridly brutal.

      "Leon…" Sisto's voice shook, as his eyes laid upon his brother's body, bloodied and limp and very, undoubtedly dead.  His hands were cut off, and he was stabbed repeatedly.

      "What is this…" Thranduil himself whispered.

      Sisto and his brothers turned to the King angrily, but the King's soldiers needed no orders this time, and held the struggling humans easily.

      "You are vile!" Sisto yelled and cried at the King clawing desperately at those who held him, "Vile! Your son will die, he will! You wait and see! He will die in such a horrid way! He will pay for _your_ crimes! He will pay!"

      "Take them away," Thranduil commanded shakily, holding his son's hair tightly, feeling as if he had already lost him, watching the shouting, struggling, cursing humans as they were overpowered into one of the prisons further along the halls of the dungeon.  Thranduil looked upon the golden strands in his hands, and some of the tips were rusted with blood.  His heart ached, and his eyes blinked at the tears that threatened to spring from them.

      _Legolas_… _My son_…

      He turned angrily towards the dungeon guards, "You had better be able to tell me precisely what happened here."

      "We… we do not know, sire," one of them stammered.

      "It is your job to know!" hollered Thranduil, "Who last entered this man's prison?"

      "I did," a smooth, regal voice replied from the entrance to the dungeons.  Lady Amalia, the mother of Lord Rios stepped forward boldly, facing the King.  She showed him that beneath her coat, her regal dresses were bloodied, as were her hands.

      "We thought…" said one of the soldiers, "We thought she had your permission, sire.  She said she did.  And she is the victim's mother…"

      Thranduil grabbed the dungeon guards by their collars and tossed them into the dungeon with the dead human.  

      "Lock yourselves inside it," his voice grated, "And stay there and think of your mistake.  You had better hope I find the inclination to free you in a few days."

      He turned to Amalia angrily, and the woman looked at him with the defiant eyes of a vengeful mother.  "And you…"

      "He deserved to die," said Amalia coldly, "And by my hands, no less."  
      "Do you know what you cost me?" Thranduil asked her softly, which was more lethal than his loudest, booming voice.  He fisted his hand about Legolas's hair, and shoved it before her eyes.  "This is all that I have left of my son.  You had better pray we find him alive, because if we do not, I will send you to the executioner's block and bury you with the body of your son's murderer."

      "I did not know…" Amalia said softly, "I did not know…"

___

Arnor

___

      They had traveled and worked through the night, feeling time press against them.  Night had turned to day but it remained distinctly, ominously dark.  Although Aragorn knew for a certainty that the dark clouds and harsh storms to follow them were simply because it was the rainy season, he could not help but feel it lent even more urgency to the air. 

      He and his soldiers had come from the mother's house to find that her sons were indeed gone.  The widow was drawn, anxious and profoundly unhappy.  Aragorn got the distinct feeling that her sons had acted without her counsel.  The group left the farm at once, and headed for the path that Legolas and his men were supposed to use to return to Mirkwood.

      Aragorn had acquired almost inhumanly-excellent tracking skills from his years as a ranger, and he knew that once the rains fell, a lot of their clues would vanish with the flowing water.  The clouds over their heads indicated that that time would be soon.

      "A disturbance here," Aragorn murmured, noting the patterns on the soil, as he hopped off his horse and went on all-fours to look at the ground closely.

      "I can smell old blood," frowned one of Aragorn's soldiers, "A lot of it," he added, more quietly, dismounting from his own horse and following his nose.

      "This is where they battled," Aragorn concluded, "And where elves fell," he nodded towards some deep, streaks in the ground, "Drag-marks.  They took the bodies elsewhere."

      The group followed the streaks, and it brought them to a small clearing, where undoubtedly, dried blood rusted the land, and the soil was disturbed, as if something was recently buried beneath it.  

      _Or someone_, Aragorn thought achingly, at the same time still fervently hoping that he would not find his friend here.

      "Shallow graves," one of the soldiers said disapprovingly.

      Lightning streaked across the sky, lending them more light for a quick moment.  Aragorn noticed more streaks in the soil that he had not looked at before.  Two more drag marks, this time leading out of the burial site, instead of towards it.

      "Looks like they had dragged one body out, instead of in," Aragorn observed, picking up a strand of golden hair.

      _Is this yours, Legolas_?, he wondered.  The elf was such a dear friend to him, that along the course of their lives together, he felt that somehow, if Legolas were dead, he would know it without a doubt, feel that ache in his heart the moment his _mellon_ passed.  

      He followed this instinct.  

      "We follow these tracks," Aragorn decided.

      "And what of the graves, Sire?" asked Sergio.

      "Whoever lies there is already dead," said Aragorn tightly, "If we do not follow these tracks before the rain washes them away, we will have no culprits, and no survivors.  We will have absolutely nothing."

* * *

      Aragorn at that moment, could not have known how right he was.

      The rain had fallen hours and hours ago, and the curtain of foamy waterfalls covering the cave's mouth had turned into a churning, opaque brown.  The water level had indeed risen, and Legolas was waist-deep in its frigid, wild current.

      It was always dark in this cave, the only indication that time passed (or _ran out_, however one chose to look at it) was the rise of the water, and that was not comforting at all.

      At least the weight was gradually being removed from his already-skinned wrists as he rose with the water, Legolas thought, his teeth beginning to chatter.  Elves were resilient, but they did not have hides, not that he did not wish for it at the moment; the water was blindingly, numbingly cold, after spending endless hours in it.  It was also thick with mud and silt from the soil of the mountains, and retained the cold more.

      He tested his binds again, tugging at it.  But the humans had known what they were doing when they bound him.  Gritting his teeth in determination, Legolas grabbed the shackles with his fingers and pulled himself up.

      Crying out as his side flared in pain, he released the shackles and splashed back into the water, now fully and miserably wet, with his side hurting and his wrists smarting.

      And the storm still roared outside, and the water only seemed to rise before his eyes, offering him no comfort, or hope.  

* * *

      The rain had washed away at the tracks, but had at least given them a more manageable search-radius.  By now, night had fallen and the rains raged, though Aragorn refused to stop, feeling an urgency that he could not seem to explain, or fully comprehend.

      The trail led the troupe along a river that flowed from a busy waterfall and they paused to take a drink, only to discover that it was practically mud, running with silt from the mountains and miserably thick with it.

      Aragon winced, knowing that his men and horses were weary and cold, and that they could not travel for very long without water.  They must return to town soon, and this he refused to do without finding out what lies at the end of the trail they have been following.

* * *

      Legolas jolted awake.

      _I had fallen asleep_?, he wondered inanely, surprised.  By now he had ceased to shiver, and he pondered if that was a good thing.

      _Probably not_.

      His body was leaden, his muscles stiff.  It's as if he had become a part of the cold, had become annexed to it.  

      The water had risen so much while he slept that the roof of the cave was just a forearm away from his head.  He was completely floating now, and there was no weight upon his wrists at all.  He struggled to maneuver his fingers and remove his gag, although to scream for help was undoubtedly useless, since the roaring water of the falls practically guaranteed that the water too, would drown his voice as it intended to drown his body.

      The gag came off, and Legolas blew it away from his face.  He watched as the cloth fell to the water and drifted away from him.  Sisto was right; he would never forget the smell of Jaime's blood.  Hours and hours he had breathed it, without getting accustomed to it.  The air in the dank cave was comparatively fresh and sweet, even if he would soon be deprived of it.

      "Help," he said tentatively, his voice wavering, weak.  Even in his best form, the raging water would keep him from being heard, and more so now.

      "Help!" he yelled, stronger, deciding he would still try, "Help!"

* * *

      Maybe it was not his ears that heard it.

      Aragorn was squatting by the water's edge, pondering where the fading tracks would lead him to next, when he watched a strange piece of cloth being carried by the current past him.  He reached over and took it, noticed the running blood on the cloth.

      He looked at the waterfalls.  Thought he heard something.  He narrowed his eyes as he tried to look past the furiously cascading mud-water.

      Aragorn motioned for one of his soldiers.  "Look at the falls.  Does that look like solid rock to you?"

      "It seldom is, sire," replied the soldier, "Perhaps a cave, behind the water."

      Rising quickly, Aragorn went to his pack, grabbed a rope and removed his coats and outer-most tunic, as well as his heavy sword, tossing it to his stunned subordinates.  They stared at him as he tied the rope about his waist and tossed the other end to Sergio.

      "Sire?" the loyal man asked worriedly.

      "Try not to lose me," Aragorn told him, just before he dived into the water, making the man scramble to get a decent hold of the rope.

* * *

      Aragorn quickly found that the cave was almost completely submerged, and his eyes scanned the narrow breathing space between the water and the roof of the cave.  His eyes rested on the familiar and very stunned face of his friend.

      "Legolas!" he exclaimed.

      "Aragorn?!" replied Legolas, "What are you--?"

      "Never mind," Aragorn said, swimming to his friend's side and looking anxiously at his face, marred by bruises and paled by the cold.  His hair, chopped raggedly and fell in strange layers.  Aragorn held his is face and stared at him intently.

      "What?" Legolas asked breathlessly, wondering if he was dreaming, or dead.

      "It's a new look for you," Aragorn said, trying to make light of the situation.  The elf had been too cold to the touch, and his eyes were dazed and somewhat unfocused.

      Aragorn turned to the shackles.  Reaching below the water, he took a dagger from his boot and tried to cut at it, to no avail.

      "I'm going to need my sword," he said to Legolas, "I have to leave you for a moment."

      Aragorn's heart pumped in anger at his friend's captors when he saw Legolas's face contort in momentary fear, before he masked it again.

      "I will return quickly," Aragorn promised him, "But I need my sword to free you."

      "I know, I know," Legolas said, "I'm sorry to doubt.  I'm afraid you're just a dream and if you go away, I will wonder if you were ever here at all."

      "I'm not a dream," Aragorn promised him, before diving into the water and swimming away.

      _You are the reality_, Legolas thought, _Pulling me away from this nightmare_…

      Aragorn returned in good time, although it felt like eternity as the water rose past Legolas's chin, necessitating that he look up just to be able to keep breathing.  Aragorn worked valiantly with his bounds, hacking at them, until they finally snapped free.

      Suddenly without the anchorage, Legolas was pushed backward into the cave by the current, and pulled under.  He'd have drifted further, if Aragorn had not grabbed him by the tunic and dragged him out of the cave and into the banks of the river.

      Hacking and struggling to recover their breaths, the two friends laid beside each other on the banks of the river, as Aragorn's men hastily tried to cover them with coats and blankets.

      The rain fell mercilessly upon them, and the winds whipped.  But Legolas barely noticed it, glad as he was to just be out of the cave, and cold as he was to barely notice anything.

      Aragorn waved off his soldiers and rose to his feet, turning to Legolas who was swathed in a blanket and also more-or-less rising, supported by two men.

      "You found me," the elf said to him wearily, "Have you seen any of my soldiers?"

      "We only found a gravesite," Aragorn admitted.

      "I'm surprised," Legolas said bitterly, "That your barbaric humans even had the decency to even have them buried."

      Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him, taking slight offense before sighing, "You are angry, and hurting.  But I wish you would not say such things."

      Legolas stared at him, nodded.  He tried to push himself to his own feet and shrug off the men who were trying to help him, but his knees buckled beneath him.

      "I have to return to Mirkwood," he said, his voice strained, "Those fools want to strike a bargain with my father.  My life for their brother's freedom.  I have to assure the King that he needn't do such a thing, that I am well."

      "You will not travel yet," Aragorn said insistently, "because frankly, you _aren't_ well.  I will arrange for riders to inform your father that you are safe.  But you stay with me, and you heal before you go gallivanting off."

      Legolas and Aragorn shared a horse, the elf sitting in front of the King, swathed in a wool blanket.  He moved awkwardly, and winced the bounces of the horse, his side protesting the movement.  Behind him, he felt the warmth of Aragorn's body.

      "You're warm," Legolas commented tiredly over the din of the falling rain, "Are you ill? You seem too hot."

      "No," Aragorn replied worriedly, "You're too cold."

      "How do you know?" Legolas teased half-heartedly, sighing.

      He felt Aragorn move closer against him, lending him his warmth wordlessly, and he accepted it gratefully.  In his friend's nearness, Legolas felt comfortable and safe, despite the anger that was raging in his heart for all that had happened to him, and his men.  He was too tired, too overcome by the limitations of his body, to have to do anything about the bitterness poisoning his soul. He let his heavy eyelids close over his dimming vision in deep weariness.

      "Legolas?" murmured Aragorn, feeling him go limp.

      _Legolas_? Aragorn's heart beat faster, nudging his friend to respond to him.

      "We stop at the nearest shelter we find!" Aragorn said to his men, willing his horse to move faster.

* * *

      _Why does this look familiar_?

      Legolas opened his eyes, and found himself staring up at the jagged roof of a cave…

      He shot up awake, crying out at the pain in his side from the movement, and found Aragorn beside him.

      ~Calm down,~ Aragorn said to him in elvish, intentionally using the tongue the elf felt most familiar and safe with, ~You are with friends now.~

      Legolas caught his breath, calmed his racing heart.  

      _From one cave to another_…

      He glanced towards the mouth of the cave, and the rain still fell in the world outside.

      ~I hate caves,~ he commented wryly.

      ~We had to find shelter.  You were so cold," he admitted, "I was worried."

      Legolas noticed that they had placed him as close to the fire as they dared, and that he was covered not only in Aragorn's coats and blankets, but also some that had belonged to the soldiers.

      ~They said that you looked as if you needed it more,~ Aragorn told him, following his eyes to the cloths, ~They respect you.  And admire you.  You _are_ among friends, Legolas.  Say what you will about the humans who had harmed you and your men.  But you are well-loved here.~

      ~I beg you not say such things to me now,~ Legolas said shakily, closing his eyes in remembrance of his fallen comrades, ~I told them not to kill the brothers, they were only fools.  My soldiers lost their lives, following what I had said.  And your fool-humans showed them no mercy, or respect.~

      ~We are not all of us alike,~ Aragorn said to him.

      They fell to an awkward silence.

      ~I wish to return to Mirkwood,~ said Legolas, ~I must ensure my father that I am safe.~

      ~My riders will--~ said Aragorn, until Legolas cut him off.

      ~You don't understand me, Estel,~ he said softly, ~I can't stand to be _here_.~

      Aragorn watched him intently, his heart constricting, knowing what that last statement had meant.  Legolas could not stand to be _here_, in this land that held foul memories.  He could not stand to be _here_ with all the bitterness he regarded its people with.  He could not even stand to be _here_ with _me_.

      Aragorn averted his eyes, hurting.  

      ~I will escort you to Mirkwood myself,~ he told his friend quietly, staring at the fire.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Breakdown

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliances

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

* * *

Part 3: Breakdown

***

___

Mirkwood

___

      _This one will break_, Thranduil thought coldly, looking upon young Tristan.  Thranduil took a deep breath, eager to begin the interrogation.  His son's hair was tucked reverently against his breast pocket, and he treated it like an anchor.  This is why he must not fail.  This is why he must be prepared to do all that he could.  Thranduil imagined there to be some warmth that emanated from the strands-- a reminder of his son, because he would not allow it to be an already fading memory.  

      "Where is Legolas?" Thranduil asked Tristan.

      "Dead," the young man replied harshly, "like my first brother who was killed by an elf.  Like Leon, who is rotting in the next room.  Your son is dead."

      "How many of your brothers would you want me to kill in front of you," Thranduil asked him coolly, "before you become more accommodating to me?"

      "You will do no such thing…" Tristan hesitated.

      "Where is Legolas?" Thranduil asked him again.

      "Dead," Tristan answered quickly, harshly.

      Thranduil's eyes narrowed in irritation, "This could be so easy, young man.  Truly."

      "Your son is dead," Tristan spat out, "You have sealed his fate."

      Thranduil let a highly-charged silence fall between them.  The dungeon was dank and dim, and deathly quiet.  

      "Bring out the oldest one," Thranduil told one of the guards who were watching them.  Thranduil spoke in the tongue that the human could understand, and watched his face as he openly feared.

      Three soldiers pulled Sisto, who was struggling madly, until they shackled him on the wall across from the one where Tristan was bound.

      "They will try to break us," Sisto told his younger brother, "No matter what happens, do not tell them anything.  We have already lost so much at their hands.  Do not give them back their fair Prince."

      Tristan's eyes were wild and fearsome, but he nodded at his brother's command.

      Thranduil drew his sword, and let the shining blade rest upon Sisto's neck.  He looked at Tristan pointedly.

      "Where is Legolas?" he asked, his voice low and lethal.

      "Tell him nothing!" Sisto said.

      Thranduil pressed the blade against Sisto's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

      "How deep this goes, young Tristan," said Thranduil, "Is entirely up to you."

      Tears began to well in the young man's stricken eyes.  "No…"

      "Now where is my son?" Thranduil asked him.

      Tristan stared at Sisto's eyes.

      "He is dead," Sisto said flatly.

      "He is dead," Tristan repeated.

      Thranduil pressed the blade deeper against Sisto's throat, and watched Tristan's face contort in anger and grief, and his body try to surge forward towards his brother, helplessly bound to the wall.

      "Sisto!" Tristan yelled, crying, "Sisto!"

      "Watch him die," Thranduil told him harshly, "He dies slowly this way.  I moved the blade just-so.  Watch him, young Tristan.  And think.  How many brothers do you have left at this point? How many will I make you watch as they perish slowly and painfully before your eyes? How many can you save by answering my question?"

      "Your son is dead," Tristan screamed, "And I'll tell you how, I'll tell you he suffered greatly! Bound and gagged and drowning in freezing cold mud-water! He hung by his wrists for days, as the water crept slowly up his ankles, up his legs, up his chest, to his face.  And it rose and rose, up to his eyes and he thrashed and tried to breathe but could not.  He may have frozen to death before he drowned.  Or he died swallowing that thick cold water until he choked on it.  _He_ died slowly.  _He_ suffered the cold, the water, and the anguish of awaiting his own cruel death.  You can do nothing to us that could equal your son's pain.  He is dead!"

      Thranduil's eyes flared as Tristan spoke.  Were they truth? Were they lies? Were they lies unfolding into truth?

      "On the contrary," Thranduil told him maliciously, "I can do things to you that could go beyond that pain and anguish.  We will call forward another of your brothers now."

      "It doesn't matter," Tristan lied, "We've taken from you your greatest prize.  You have nothing."

      Thranduil will not let that be, and he was ready to be as brutal and unforgiving as necessary to reclaim his son.

* * *

      The long ride to Mirkwood had been awkward and uncomfortable.  Stirrings of great anger had risen in Legolas since he had been rescued, but he had fallen into a despairing silence since the company passed the gravesite of the slain elf soldiers.

      Aragorn was almost wishing that he would say the harsh things he had been saying, instead of this burdensome silence that carried so much meaning in its stillness, unreleased by the triviality of words.

      The group had been allowed entrance into the borders of the kingdom, and an elf-rider who was on patrol rode ahead of them, surely to inform the King Thranduil that his son had returned safely back.

      "If you wish to leave," Legolas murmured to Aragorn, "You may go, I am already safe here, and our soldiers can take me the rest of the way."

      It was his first words in hours, and as in the other times he had spoken before, it was only out of necessity.  The Prince had lost his light and sparkle, and Aragorn was beginning to feel that it was not just a matter of time before he recovered; perhaps he was truly drifting away.

      "I feel the need to speak with your father," Aragorn told him quietly, also falling into words and conversations that did not really say what he was feeling.  He could not encase his fears in words, and even if he could, he felt his heart could not bear for Legolas to tell him expressly, as he had done the last time, that the elf despised humanity, and this race unfortunately included its King and greatest Servant.

      The King of Mirkwood was awaiting them at the stables, and embraced his son even as he was just dismounting.

      ~Legolas,~ the Thranduil said fervently, ~You have come home.~

      Legolas told him shakily, ~I lost our men…~

      ~I know,~ Thranduil said softly, ~It pains me greatly as well, but you have been restored to us, and this gives us joy.~

      ~Ada…~ Legolas whispered, ~Blood.~

      Thranduil pulled back from his son, who was looking at his bloodied robes and hands.

      ~Your torturers have paid for their mistakes,~ Thranduil told him, before turning to face Aragorn.  ~Elessar.  As usual, your grace can be depended upon.  I thank you.~

      ~The torturers have paid for their mistakes?~ Aragorn asked, dismounting from his horse, ~I fear to ask what this means.~

      ~I never knew you for much fear,~ Thranduil said to Aragorn, ~We will speak of this matter later,~ turning to one of his aides, he said, ~Humans may not presently rest in our great favor, but I expect King Ellessar's men to be treated as the greatest of guests.  Make sure this is known by all.  It is they who have restored our Prince.~

      ~They have been kind to me,~ Legolas added quietly, almost begrudgingly.  His father was right; though humans did not rest in their great favor in these trying times, his better self would not allow the memory of their kindness to be buried in his anger.

      Thranduil looked at his son worriedly, noting the bruises around his neck, on his pale, drawn face.  He moved stiffly, and seemed haggard and weary.

      ~Seek the healer,~ Thranduil commanded him.

      ~I have no need--~ Legolas was saying.

      ~I've heard this before,~ snapped Thranduil, ~Follow your king, if not your father.~

      Legolas glanced at Aragorn, and acquiesced wordlessly, turning away from the two mighty rulers.

      "Walk with me to my hall," Thranduil said to Aragorn.

      "Of course," Aragorn said, as the two of them moved deeper through the palace.

      "If you are wondering what fate had befallen your foolish young humans," Thranduil said, "Most of them are dead.  All but two, actually.  And they would have been killed as well, if I were not alerted to your arrival."

      "What becomes of them now?" Aragorn asked.

      "My son's safety," replied Thranduil, "though important to me, is merely incidental to their case.  They committed the crime, and whether they succeeded or not is of no consequence.  The sentence must carry.  However… this chain of violence between our races must come to an end."

      "I too, wish this peace," agreed Aragorn, "Elves and men have always had an alliance.  Trivialities of our citizens, their personal grudges, must not escalate into a full-fledged hatred that encompasses our kingdoms."

      "As a sign of our good will," said Thranduil, "I am willing to release these last two fools into your custody.  To punish or set free, to do with as you will.  You need not prove your good will to me, as I know you have always been a friend to my son, and have even restored him to us.  This is more than sign enough."

      "I accept, sire," Aragorn said politely, "Perhaps this violence will now come to an end."

      "I certainly hope so," said Thranduil, "Now that this vile business is over, you are my guest.  And we will dine, and you will rest, before I let you leave my kingdom."

* * *

      The doors to the dungeons were pushed open, and for the first time since he had been left by them to die in the caves, Legolas set his eyes upon Tristan and another brother of his, shackled to the walls and surrounded by the corpses of their other brothers.

      The healer had been a fountain of information, and Legolas felt somehow compelled to pay his former captors a visit, once he learned about what had been done to them.  To what end, he was unsure.  The only certainty in his heart was that he had to see them.

      "You live…" Tristan said, his voice hoarse as he looked at Legolas in awe.

      Legolas glanced at the reeking corpses spread around them.  And so his father has done this misdeed, to gather information.  A sign of desperate love to be found deep within an unmistakable brutality.  His father was a paradox, knowing how to love and how to hate with great definitiveness.

      "You did not yield, did you?" asked Legolas.

      "They took everything from us," whispered Tristan, "I could not let them have you."

      "He left the corpses with you so that you may think about your options," observed Legolas, "And what have you concluded?"

      "We will die with our secrets," said Tristan, "But now you return, bruised but otherwise well, as if fate was mocking me.  You have everything, we have nothing."

      --

      "How did it feel to see them die before your eyes?" Legolas asked him bitterly.

      --

      "Like I was being torn inside out," Tristan answered, trembling, "Like I would die from grief and yet I could not."

      --

      "You look at me with this vindictive rage in your eyes," Tristan whispered, "So satisfied are you that you have shared this loss, this burning anguish with me."

      "How could I not feel satisfied?" snapped Legolas, "How could you blame me my pleasure at your punishment, after what you had done to me and my soldiers?"

      "Then you musn't begrudge me our initial desire for vengeance," retorted Tristan, "because you have tasted it in your own heart, you are tasting it now."

      "Then all is well and good," said Legolas harshly, "We understand each other at last.  You deserve all this.  All your actions brought you here.  My men did nothing but try to spare your lives," Legolas stepped back from the dungeon, willing so much to leave.  He nodded to the guard he was with, before turning towards Tristan for his farewell, "I wish you have a good night with all your corpses."

      "How could you lend yourself to this?" Tristan asked him achingly, "You are a good man."

      "I was never a man," Legolas told him coldly, as the door was shut between them with a resounding slam.

      Legolas and his guard-escort walked out of the dungeons silently.  As step by step took him further from the reeking dungeon, the anger in his heart was overrun by… was it pity?, and he contrasted the bitterness he had earlier shown Tristan and said to the guard, "By my order, take those bodies out of there.  Give the remaining prisoners food, and clean clothes.  Prepare the bodies for burial and lend them the respect they did not give our soldiers.  This ridiculous violence ends here."

      It was not forgiveness.  No, he was too enraged and broken to afford that much.  But he needed that touch of compassion in himself, that least effort to keep his heart, as he used to know it.  And it was for Aragorn.  The King would come to visit the fool-brothers later, for certain.  And he shouldn't have to see his people like that, and feel a potent rage for their mistreatment, and a gnawing, aching helplessness that he could not have done better by them.

      No, it was not for those fools that he showed them this kindness.  If anything, they truly deserved whatever they got.

* * *

      Elves barely slept, much less slept for too long, but it seemed that his weary body meant to make its own rules.

      When Legolas fully awoke, the sun was high upon the sky, and it was past mid-morning.  He had lain in bed the evening before, not really intending to sleep although it seemed that it had claimed him.  He dressed hurriedly and went to look for Aragorn, only to find him gone, already having left to return to his own kingdom.

      Legolas had missed dinner the night before, and now had even missed saying farewell to Aragorn.  He regretted this deeply, although he also met this with some relief.  For the first time since the first moments he had met Aragorn years ago, he was at a loss as to what to say to him.  The past days have been awkward since he expressed his desire to leave the human world for awhile, but it was only his anger talking.  Although he could not say that his anger had ebbed, or even slightly dulled, he did not want his best friend to leave without his best wishes.

      He headed for the receiving hall of his father, only to find it once again in a closed-door session.  His brows furrowed in worry, as he ordered for the doors to be opened for him.

      Inside, he found his father scolding a group of soldiers, all still in their armor, all bloodied and grimy from some strange misadventure.

      It felt like déjà vu, except the last time things had this air of nervous energy and foreboding, he had been looking at a grimy human who had murdered six elves…

      ~What happened?~ Legolas whispered.

      ~Later,~ his father retorted, turning to the other soldiers in the room, ~See them locked up.  We will have a court martial as soon as I get my head together as to what to do about these rogue fools.  And prepare the stables.  I can see Elessar returning here as soon as he discovers what has been done.~

      The hall soon emptied, save for father and son.  Legolas watched his father's face intently.

      ~What's been done?~ he asked softly.

      ~The soldiers you have just seen,~ replied Thranduil, ~come from the same contingent of soldiers as the men whom I've sent with you to Gondor.  I did not tell you, because at the time I felt it unnecessary to do so, but when the human brothers came to my hall to tell me of your ransom, as an added threat, they brought the decapitated heads of your comrades.  Our soldiers did not take it well, and razed the nearest human towns they could find.  Without my leave, or knowledge.~

      Legolas' jaw set.  If the towns were nearest to Mirkwood, and Aragorn had left hours ago, he would find them in no time, and see what has been done to his people.  The rogue elves had hit towns.  That meant women, and children.

      ~They've begun a war,~ Legolas said.

      ~It's been coming,~ Thranduil sighed, ~We could not stem it.  Elessar will return soon and will most likely have a quarrel with me.  I wish that he would understand that this is the work of a few individuals, and in no way should it have a bearing on the entire race.~

      ~He might understand,~ said Legolas, ~But his people will not.  He is a fair King, not a dictator.  He will serve them, and it may be no less than a war that they will ask of him.~

      ~I hope not,~ said Thranduil fervently, ~I sincerely hope not.~

* * *

      By evening, Aragorn and his troop had returned to the palace stables with their eyes bloodshot.  They had rode furiously, and without rest.

      Dismounting his horse, Aragorn was immediately confronted by Legolas, who had been waiting at the stables for hours for this return.

      ~We had nothing to do with it,~ Legolas told him at once, not mincing words.

      "Than who did?" Aragorn snapped, not even bothering to speak in Elvish, "I found one of my towns in ashes.  Ashes!"

      "The soldiers responsible did this without my father's command," Legolas said, trying to calm him, "This is the work of individuals, not of the elves as a race.  They had been angry at the loss of their comrades—"

      "There is no excuse," Aragorn told him darkly, "Where is your hypocritical King?"

      "You will not speak of my father this way," Legolas warned him.

      "And how else should I speak of him?" Aragorn asked, "He welcomed me here as a guest.  He played the role of a gracious host.  He expressed to me his deep desire for peace.  He released his human captives as a sign of good will.  And all this time, all this while that I have been here, my people were being murdered, and my towns being burned.  Tell me, Legolas, how else should I speak of him?"

      "I know you are angry," Legolas said, curbing his own temper, "But do not do or say anything rash--"

      "Where is your father?" Aragorn cut him off, "It is his authority that I seek, and not your reasoning."

      "Why do you dismiss me so?" Legolas retorted, "I did not burn your human towns.  I had nothing to do with this.  You know me! Your doubting sends a knife to my heart."

      "I know you, yes," Aragorn's voice grated, "And I know you enough to recognize the coarse hate and the burning in your eyes when you had looked at us after we rescued you.  I know you and I know you were in your deepest anger.  What I do not know, is where you were last night.  And I do not know where you were this morning.  All I know is that at the time you were gone, some of my towns burned to the ground!"  
      Legolas stepped back from Aragorn, stung by his suspicion.

      ~Then you do not know me at all,~ Legolas told him darkly in Elvish, ~I know you are hurting, and angry.  And I wish I could bring myself to understand that these are the only reasons why you would say such vile things to me.  But I'm too tired trying to comprehend this ridiculous situation.  I'm too tired to have to do anything with you, or your kind.~

      "We were headed this way," Aragorn said tightly, "As you had told me before, 'one learns that in the end, you just really have to be one among your own kind and content with it, or face the grief of constant loss and wandering.'  It seems we have both learned this at last."

      --

      ~I will summon my father for you,~ Legolas told him softly, beginning to turn to leave.  A few steps away, though, he paused and looked at Aragorn sorrowfully.

      ~Farewell, Estel,~ Legolas told him quietly, achingly thinking, _If things do not go well between you and my father tonight, the next I see you will be at the other end of a bloody field_.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. Rules of Engagement

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliances

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

* * *

Part 4: Rules of Engagement 

* * *

      "You say you had nothing to do with this," snapped Aragorn, "well you damn well should have.  You are their king.  They are your people.  And you cannot control them."

      "I cannot control my people?" said Thranduil, enraged, "How dare you speak of such a thing when it was _your_ people who had started this massacre?"

      The two mighty rulers were alone in Thraduil's hall, though the King of Mirkwood respectfully deigned to sit upon his throne in an effort to project equality, a fair meeting of minds.  But Aragorn was angry, fresh from seeing his ruined towns, fresh to his pains, and was aching to fight.  Thranduil, on the other hand, was a spring waiting to snap, just as caught up in his indignation, so helpless and frustrated was he over what his men had done.

      "All this could have ended yesterday," Aragorn sighed, "I had accepted your sign of peace.  And now your fools have raised such a clamor that my people demand nothing less than a war."

      "We would eat you alive," said Thranduil darkly.

      "We will take most of you with us," retorted Aragorn, insulted.

      --

      The two rulers held steel gazes for a breathless moment.

      --

      Thranduil relented, sighing.  "Sleep on it, Elessar.  Your pain is fresh.  You do not want this war.  Perhaps all that your people need is time to think as well."

      "What we need," said Aragorn tightly, "And what _I_ desire, in the very least, is that you turn those rogue soldiers over to me, that they may pay for their crimes in my court, and face a public trial.  That may quench my people's thirst for elf-blood, and end the possibility of this war." 

      "I will not have it," Thranduil argued, "Your people would skin them alive! And my people would find great displeasure in it."

      "I see no other recourse—"

      The doors to the halls burst open, and one of Thranduil's soldiers said to the King, ~Sire.  Some humans along the southern border.  They attacked our forests with flame-tipped arrows.  The fire is spreading quickly…~

      Thranduil looked at Aragorn with eyes wide in anger.  ~I find out you have something to do with this…~

      ~I've been with you all this while,~ said Aragorn, ~And at the heart of this very danger.  The idea is preposterous.~

      ~Then we both have problems with control,~ said Thranduil coldly, ~Excuse me.  I must settle the mess your humans have created.~

      ~Let me aid you,~ Aragorn said sparingly.

      ~We do not need your help,~ retorted Thranduil.

      ~I nevertheless desire to give it,~ said Aragorn, ~It's a wide forest, and you would undoubtedly need all the hands you can find.  Mine are capable, and true towards helping you.  Let me settle the mess _my_ humans have created.~

* * *

      ~Timber!~

      Legolas dodged the falling, burning log, as he quickly maneuvered through the raging forest.  A plan had been hastily set; the best climbers would go up some of the trees that are beginning to burn, and cut off the lit branches so that they would not spread to the canopy of the trees beside it.  Down upon the ground, they could burn themselves out.  The strongest were digging a ditch around the already affected area, also to keep the fire from spreading and to just let it burn away its rage.  Others were hastily moving about with pails of water, which wasn't as useful in killing the flames as it was in treating burns or giving refreshment to the ardent workers; elves though they were, the smoke was thick and made the work all the more cumbersome.

      A handful of elves had taken to pursue the humans responsible for the razing, but their aid was soon demanded elsewhere; the fire spread quickly in the richly forested land.

      Getting a solid grip on the trunk of a tree, Legolas made his way up along the length of it, his sword upon his back.  The activity was making his old injuries smart slightly, but he kept moving, and let his concerns lie elsewhere.

      He stopped climbing beside a burning branch, and he secured himself as best he could, as he began to hack at the edge of the branch.

      ~Timber!~ he yelled, as the branch sailed downwards to the ground.  He climbed a few steps higher, cut at another branch, and yelled out his warnings.  The tree needed more trimmings, and after, Legolas hurriedly descended from it.  Breathing heavily from the exertion, he eyed the many other trees yet to climb, and their many branches left to cut.

      It was going to be a long night.

* * *

      Aragorn coughed deeply, regained his breath for a moment, before picking up his shovel again and continued with his digging.  By now, the fire had raged for hours, and he had been working for that same amount of time against it.

      Beside him, elves labored intensively, also with his men.  It was the way he thought to lend his help; climbing these high old trees was beyond him.  Thranduil himself worked with him in the ditch-digging, yelling commands now and then, disturbed once in awhile by his aides who either pleaded with him to stop and rest, or updating him with the progress of the fire-fighting.

      Aragorn coughed again, and heard an elf beside him do the same.  By now, the smoke had thickened so much, it made for an environment that suited nobody, not even the sturdy frames of the elves.  But the dim yellow glow of the flames were receding, darkening the night once more, and that was hope enough for him.   

      ~That's deep enough, King Elessar,~ the elf beside him said politely, ~Let us move on.~

      ~I'm sorry,~ Aragorn said, ~Our eyes are not as good as yours.~

      It was true; he could barely see an arm away from him, and he could not even see his work, or the face of the elf who was speaking to him.

      ~I know,~ said the elf, ~I will guide you.~

      Together they worked, paused for coughs and breaths every once in awhile, though moved ceaselessly until the ditch was perfect and done.  They had stepped back to survey their work, and had moved further enough away from the dying fire for the smoke to clear, and for Aragorn to see the face of his companion at last.

      ~I am Asti,~ said the elf, who seemed almost as old as Thranduil, ~I have watched our Prince grow, and have seen you with him.  I prize these lands and these trees, and despise the humans who did this.  But you make this anger less acute.  It is in knowing you that I could not hate humans completely.  If I meet you in battle, I do not think my hands could slay you.~

      ~Yet we must set such feelings aside,~ Thranduil said suddenly, appearing beside them, ~This is the way of a war.  Enter it with finality, and without hesitation.  Else all you will have are losses and regrets.~

      ~Of course, sire,~ murmured Asti, bowing slightly and excusing himself, leaving the two monarchs to discuss their war.

      ~You do not wish to sleep on this?~ Aragorn asked Thranduil flatly, quoting the elf-king from their past conversation almost verbatim, ~Your pain is fresh.  You do not want this war.~

      ~Do not sass me,~ Thranduil snapped, ~You were right.  I see this as our only recourse.  At least in an official battle, the rules are clear, the ending definitive.~

      ~And we can take the fight away from our women and children,~ added Aragorn, ~I do not want this war, you are right as well.  But I do not want any more uncontrollable rogues—elf or human—running around wildly with their own brand of justice.  We end this with a war.~

      ~Any who surrender will be kept alive and taken care of,~ said Thranduil, ~We identify ourselves with banners and uniforms.  We set a place and time.  There will be honor.  And order.  Whoever is defeated will be treated fairly, and will retreat graciously.  We let this bloodlust rest.~

      ~Agreed,~ said Aragorn softly, ~Let us give each other a few days to recover.  I… I wish to send my wife back to Rivendell, with her father.  I trust that land will be kept neutral and safe for both our races?~

      ~As it always was,~ said Thranduil, ~And what of Rohan? They are humans too.  Is this their war?~

      ~As long as they are unharmed,~ Aragorn replied, ~Eomer may find no reason to join it.  His loyalty to the race may bring him into our fold, but I guarantee you I will not bring them into this unless they themselves find the need, or desire to.~

      ~You have always been very wise and fair,~ Thranduil told him approvingly, ~May this end well for all of us.  Somehow.~

* * *

      ~Keep him safe,~ Legolas whispered upon Aragorn's horse, as he personally arranged the saddle for his friend in the quiet stables.

      The sun was rising, though it did not give as much hope to him as it used to.  All it introduced were partings.  And though painful enough as they already were, much more so, this time around.

      He handed the reins to the porter, who was watching him perceptively, ~The King Elessar asks for his horse.  Take this to him.~

      ~He needn't.~

      Legolas glanced to find Aragorn at the door.  He had been caught unawares, so deep was he within his thoughts.  Legolas waved the porter away, busied himself with the already-ready horse, as Aragorn walked over to him.

      ~He is good and ready,~ Legolas said, patting the horse's flank, sinking into trivialities that Aragorn would not allow.

      ~You weren't even going to say goodbye," Aragorn pointed out.

      ~I already have,~ Legolas said to him, handing over the reins, ~That was yesterday.~

      ~It hadn't really been much of one,~ Aragorn commented, taking the weathered leather from his friend's hands.  They fell to an awkward silence.

      _Would things ever be the same between us again_, Legolas wondered uneasily.

      ~Things have been said, that shouldn't have been,~ Aragorn said quietly.

      ~Do not think about it,~ Legolas told him quickly.

      ~How could I not?~ said Aragorn.

      ~Then don't bother to say it,~ said Legolas.

      ~Time may deprive us of the privilege to waylay such things,~ Aragorn told him, ~I'm sorry.  My friend.  My brother.~

      --

      ~I'm sorry too,~ said Legolas quietly, ~We have both been borne away by our hurts.~

      Aragorn nodded in acceptance, his fist tightening around the reins, as if he wished to say more, but could not find the words.

      ~You've heard, from your father…?~ asked Aragorn.

      ~The war, yes,~ replied Legolas, ~Of course.~

      --

      ~Be careful,~ Aragorn said.

      ~And you,~ said Legolas.

      --

      ~If there was another way…~ said Aragorn haltingly.

      ~I know,~ said Legolas, ~I know.~

      --

      ~You seem to know a lot of things,~ Aragorn told him, not finding anything else to say but refusing to leave things as they were.

      ~We have good ears,~ Legolas said inanely, wincing at the uselessness of what he had just said, though he too, found himself compelled to stay where he was.

      --

      ~When this is over,~ said Legolas, ~It may be awhile before I could once again come to your kingdom for a visit.~

      _If I ever do again at all_…

      ~I will live long,~ Aragorn guaranteed him, with a ghost of a smile, that the elf hesitantly returned.

      "Sire," one of Aragorn's men appeared by the door, "We are ready to leave as soon as you are."

      Aragorn turned back to Legolas, whose face had closed once again.  

      ~Have a safe journey, Estel,~ said the elf, ~I will see you soon.~ The elf winced, feeling that really did not sound right, considering they will next see each other at the opposite sides of a battle.

      _Although I would rather not see you again at all_, thought Aragorn similarly hurtfully, _If__ it is at the other end of my sword_.

* * * 

      The sound of clanking horse's hooves had borne him away long ago, though Legolas still imagined he could hear the fading steps, taking his friend further and further away from him.

      _Who'd have thought things would come to this_…

      Alone in his room, he found no solace.  The sun had risen up into the skies, and he found its light was profoundly oppressive.  

      _The days are dark, why must you shine_?

* * *

      Aragorn rode so hard and so furiously, that even his seasoned soldiers struggled to keep up.

      He said nothing, and stopped for nothing, as if the faster he went, the more he could escape his thoughts, or what had recently transpired around him.

      _I'm a fool_, he thought bitterly, almost laughing at himself.

      He was speeding towards a destination that did not promise much of a future.  Perhaps if he slowed down, he would get there later, or things would happen before he arrived and be over by the time he got there.

      Could he truly kill an elf, he wondered.  It was analogous to asking himself if he could kill his friends.  But the war answered a practicality that he could not deny.  At least war had rules that they could all uniformly abide by.  It was a release of an anger that could not be suppressed, in a controlled manner.  But he despised it still.

      _Why must we all be so vindictive_?

      He slowed down his horse.  It was a foolish, useless idea.  But he wished to arrive at this bleak future as late as he could afford to.

* * *

      The fires have long since smoldered out, the crowds who had fought to stop it long since retired for the night.  The guards were assigned at a distance, and Legolas found himself alone among the gray ruin, tinged with the silver of moonlight.

      The trees that were burned had died, of this he was sure.  The leaves have burnt out, and the brown barks were singed and heavily black with soot.  The ashes beneath his feet stuck to his shoes and clothes, and the smell of the retched smoke still carried by the stirring air was just as relentlessly oppressive.

      Asti, and old hand at the palace, had told him that the great Elessar had worked these fields valiantly, alongside the elves.  That covered in soot and surrounded by smoke, they all looked the same.

      He closed his eyes as he pondered their cruel fates.  He loved Aragorn as a brother.  And human lives were short enough for an immortal elf to enjoy just as fleeting moments, without these senseless wars to shorten them further.

      _Had I seen the last I ever would of Aragorn_, he wondered, the idea making his heart sting, his eyes water.

      _I wish I had apologized better_, he thought, _Or__ made a joke.  I miss his laughter.  I wish I had said more_.

      His regrets were great, and sadly and profoundly useless as he let them swirl around his already-tortured mind.  How had he been so unkind? And so misunderstanding? How had they all?

      ~It has always been said that love and hate are not contrary feelings,~ It was Thranduil's voice, his light steps stopping behind his son, ~They are more of brothers.  The more you love, the more you expect, and the stronger you hate when these expectations are not met.  The more you love, the more you build between you.  And the more there is that is built, the more there is to destroy.  The more you once had, the emptier you feel at the end, when it has been taken.~

      ~You are speaking of elves and men, ada?~ Legolas asked.

      ~I am speaking of you and Elessar,~ replied Thranduil, ~I noticed you have not been in accord.  I know you must be torn.  But your loyalties must lie in the right place.~

      ~I know where my loyalties stand,~ Legolas retorted, ~You must rest easy that I will not betray our people.~ Legolas could have laughed most bitterly; accused of deceit not only by Aragorn a few days ago, now by his own father.  And they find him to blame that he is torn when it is they who are confusing everything!

      ~One day you will be king,~ continued Thranduil, ~And I must say these things to you as a leader to our people.  They will count on you being there.  They will need you there.  You will be their leader one day, and they have to be able to trust--~

      ~I already know this,~ seethed, Legolas, ~Your doubt is stifling me.  Your doubt is stifling me!~

      ~I do not doubt,~ Thranduil told his son quickly, ~You are responsible, and true.  As your king I have to say this: do not betray your people.  But as your father… I beg you not to betray yourself.~

      Legolas stared at his father, at a loss for words.

      ~If these contrast each other than you are in a fix,~ sighed Thranduil, ~And you have to decide who you most truly are.  Are you our Prince? Or are you just Legolas, with your own loyalties, your own friends?~

      ~Then let me ask you, ada,~ said Legolas after a moment, ~Have you decided who _you_ are? Are you my King, more than you are my father?~

      --

      ~I am your father before all else,~ Thranduil told him quietly, for all that this statement meant and implied; Thranduil was telling him not to betray himself.  Thranduil was telling him that he could skip this war.  That he could leave, and forever be severed from his people, if he truly wanted to keep his ties with Elessar.

      --

      ~I am no coward,~ said Legolas shakily, ~But this war I could not fight.  Not on any side.~

      Thranduil closed his eyes, sad but accepting.  He engulfed his son in a tight embrace, knowing that after Legolas flies, they most likely would not see each other again.  Legolas could not return to the elves from this perceived abandonment.  For all that Thranduil himself could forgive, he knew his son's pride, and he knew the elves' fierce rules and loyalty.  They would _never_ see each other again, after this silver-gray night.

      ~I will leave at once,~ Legolas told him quietly, ~Goodbye, _ada_.  I am _so_ sorry.~

TO BE CONTINUED…


	5. Armistice

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliance

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

* * *

Part 5: Armistice

* * *

___

Bree

___

      The Prancing Pony Inn was alive with active chatter of the coming war.  It was notable that the younger men have gone, probably having joined the ranks of soldiers, and that most of the occupants were older.

      "They had it coming," one man growled, "Those crazy elves with their noses high up in the air…"

      "It must be tearing Elessar apart, going against his friends," mused another, "Well, after what those brothers had done to the elf-folk, it's long been coming."

      "Are you insinuating that this began with us?" exclaimed a drunken gentleman, "You see you do not know the whole story at all!"

      "It all began right here," said his companion, "Right here in Bree, gentlemen! An elf killed a man and escaped, getting away scot-free, the spineless prick.  Then the man's brother goes to Mirkwood and kills several elves of his own out of revenge, except the fool kills the wrong ones, _then_ gets caught.  His other brothers kill elf soldiers and ransom the Prince of Mirkwood to get him back.  Then the King of Mirkwood kills most of them, and his soldiers raze our towns.  Then the angry townspeople set aflame their beloved forest.  It's all a game! And it began here in fair Bree, where we stand."

      "You sound almost proud," noticed one of his drinking friends.

      "You see, sir," replied the man excitedly, "It's interesting because that elf who started all of this could still be here.  Among us.  Drinking in our bars.  Selling us goods.  Hiding.  He could be here somewhere.  He could be in this very room!"

      "I think I could tell if an elf were here!" laughed his friend, "With that mass of fair hair, those pointed ears."

      "They can disguise themselves, you see," said another man, "How hard is it to hide those pointed ears? Or dirty up those scrubbed-clean faces, add soot to their golden hair? Why they would look just like you and me!"

      "Maybe not you!" one wisecracker yelled from another table, and the entire bar laughed, save maybe for one being, shrouded by a dark cloak in a corner of the room, his pint of brew barely touched, as he watched them all.

      _I do not belong here_, he thought bitterly, _And__ yet I do not belong anymore from where I had come either_.

      "You've not touched your drink, vagrant," a server said to him, "I could think of a more worthy gentleman to occupy our tables."

      Legolas stared up at him, letting some of the dim light touch his hidden face, and said nothing.  The server shrugged and walked away.

      He had wanted to be here, to see how a rogue elf might live out the rest of his long life, away from his people, and yet also apart from humanity.  It was solitary, in a room full of people.  It was ceaselessly silent even in the noisiest bars.  And since violence between men and elves has erupted, the rogue elves have long since left Bree, fearing for their safety.  Where they had gone from here, he did not know.  All he knew that was hidden inside this coat—it had belonged to Aragorn, and he had forgotten to return it since they had rescued him from the chilly river waters—no one saw who or what he was, and he felt reasonably safe to see whatever it is his heart had come here to see.

      "May I join you?" a man asked him, making him look up from his musings.  The man's hair was a sandy gold, darkened by filth, falling in tangled wisps about his face, his fair skin glowing beneath the streaks of grime spread liberally across his face.  He looked almost like a man, except Legolas would know his kind in the dark.

      "Do as you please," Legolas said to him, curious about this rogue who seemed to have found him, and whose eyes teased as if the two of them shared a secret.

      "What is your name?" the disguised elf asked him, sliding into a seat next to his.  He noticed Legolas hesitate for a breath, and he laughed.  "It needn't be your real one.  'Tis simply out of convenience's sake."

      "Vagrant," Legolas replied, remembering the term the server had called him, knowing it meant 'wanderer,' and that it reminded him of one of Aragorn's names, Strider.

      "Good name," teased the other elf, "You can call me Rascal."

      Legolas took a sip of his brew, "Now yours is not a good name at all."

      "It stuck," Rascal grinned, though his sharp eyes glinted, "You are new blood here.  You still smell of the forest, elf."

      "Miraculously," said Legolas wryly, not missing a beat, "So do you, underneath all of your wasteful years here."

      Rascal's eyes narrowed in irritation.  "Sharp tongue you got there.  And a tone that could only mean you have come from the finest lines.  I do not yet know who you are, but I'm sure, around here with all of its angry humans, your head can fetch more than a fair price."

      Legolas's fists tightened, but Rascal only grinned.

      "Unfortunately," he said, "Being what I am, my head can fetch a pretty fair price as well.  Looks like we both have a knife's edge against each other's throats.  You see… I am in need of a partner who, if I could not trust him, I have a secret to control him with."

      "A partner?" asked Legolas.

      "My old one was a human," Rascal's face twisted in dismay, "Terrible race.  About time we had a war.  He met…" he smiled, "A most untimely demise."

      "I'm sure you are still recovering," Legolas told him dryly, "I am not interested.  I am just passing through."

      "Headed nowhere," Rascal drawled, "I've seen your kind… aimless, empty.  Why don't you give me a try? If things don't work out, we each keep our secrets, and you can leave with my blessings."

      "With all due respect," said Legolas, "I would not turn my back on you, even if it is to leave."

      "That would be wise," Rascal smiled, "My old partner learned that the hard way."

      "You killed him?" whispered Legolas.

      "Do not look so shocked," Rascal laughed, "It happens."

      Legolas stared at the elf before him.  Had he stumbled into the man who began this war?

      "He would not take the business to another level.  Coward wanted out, so I _took _him _out_," laughed Rascal, before frowning, "Except I didn't think the bastard had so many brothers, and started this stupid war.  It's not good for business, you see.  And now I have to go around looking like this.  I told you it is a terrible race."

      "What business is this that you speak of?" Legolas asked cautiously.

      "I am wondering what it is about what I had said that suddenly piqued your interest," Rascal said, rubbing his chin in thought.

      "As you said, I am headed nowhere," Legolas said edgily, knowing it had more than a grain of truth to it, though his mind started to turn ideas over in his head…

      Rascal's eyes narrowed in irritation; Vagrant was sharp, and even his perceptiveness was being skillfully escaped.

      "I can tell for a certainty that you are a dangerous being," Rascal commented, "But I'm telling you right now, you had better believe that so am I."

* * *

      The two new partners left the Inn, and headed towards an obscure old house at the edge of the settlement.  Rascal opened the door slowly, and a strange smell assaulted Legolas as he stepped inside.  The small house was filled with carefully-bound stacks of strange grass, of a kind that he had not smelled or sighted ever before.

      "This is the business," Rascal said proudly, breathing the nauseatingly sweet smell deeply.

      ~What is it?~ Legolas murmured, using his native tongue, as he picked up a piece from the floor and sniffed at it, the small quantities he had inhaled at close range giving him a curious rush.

      Rascal took the bit from him, and settled it back into the stacked bundle, ~None for free for you yet, my new partner, you have to prove your worth first.  Every piece of this sells very well, you see, every single precious strand of it.~

      ~A new breed of Galenas?~ Legolas asked.

      ~No, no,~ laughed Rascal, ~It's not pipe-weed.  This is more precious and rare, more expensive.  It is an opiate.  Let us say… it lulls you into the most interesting dreams, and it is highly addictive.~

      ~I've heard of this,~ Legolas frowned, ~Banned in most places.~

      ~I'm a runner,~ grinned Rascal, ~I snuck them in when I deliver my textiles, which I sell as well.  I am good at what I do, but I cannot do this alone.  And I am happy to find an elf, for I could not trust men at these times.~

      ~I do not endorse this illegality,~ said Legolas tentatively.

      ~Well you have already seen it,~ Rascal snapped, ~You join me or I kill you before you step out of that door.  I did it to the human.  I can do it to you.~

      Legolas considered his options quickly, just before turning towards Rascal and lashing out at his neck, sending the unprepared elf unconscious to the ground.

      He worked quickly, tying the man with strips of the textiles he had found also stored in the house.  Then he took off running towards the stables of the Inn where he had left his horse.

      He and his 'partner' will be headed towards Rivendell.

__

Rivendell

___

      Arwen sat by the window, looking over at the beauty of her old home, her eyes deep and sorrowful.

      ~I despise wars,~ she murmured quietly, feeling her father Elrond watching her from the door to the quiet room.

      ~Don't we all,~ Elrond agreed.

      ~And yet it always seems to find us,~ whispered Arwen, ~I think I may have done Aragorn a disservice by marrying him.  When this human was wronged by elves, he feared to approach his king, thinking the king's favor would always rest upon an elf, because he is married to one.~

      ~You have done no one a disservice,~ Elrond told her soothingly, ~such insinuations they have created for themselves.~

      ~Is there still any way to cease this?~ Arwen asked.

      ~Troops from Mirkwood and Gondor are already converging to meet at Dagorlad,~ Elrond told her, ~Such an ironic place to confront each other.  Along those battle plains, elves and men once stood together against the evils of Mordor.  And now they defile it.  They break the alliance on the very soil upon which it was most manifested.~

      ~Someone comes,~ Arwen said suddenly, noticing a lone rider arrive from the near distance, ~Legolas.~

* * *

      Legolas handed the unconscious Rascal over to one of the soldiers who had met him upon his arrival, and he hurriedly dismounted his horse, as Arwen and Elrond rushed toward him.

      ~What brings you here, Prince?~ Elrond asked, glancing at the unconscious elf that Legolas had brought along curiously.

      ~I hit him,~ said Legolas, ~And gave him opiates to keep him unconscious further.  Is he in any medical danger?~

      Elrond examined the elf quickly.  ~Not at all.~

      ~Good,~ breathed Legolas, ~I need you to keep him alive, and well-guarded.  You musn't let him escape.~

      ~Who may I ask is this?~ asked Elrond, ~Certainly not a friend of yours?~

      ~This is the elf who began the war,~ said Legolas breathlessly, ~I think it can still be stopped.  We hold a public trial, with a council made up of both men and elves.  They jointly decide his fate.  He began the war, his execution can end it.  I realized all we needed is a scapegoat.  No one wants this war, Lord Elrond.  If they ever did, surely they have changed their minds as the possibility of death and destruction draws near.  He can satisfy the bloodlust and quell the fears.  A scapegoat, to blame for it all.  And he is certainly the right one.  He murdered that first human who died in the chain of violence that resulted in this war.  They were angered because he was not brought to justice.  Now he can be.  What I need from your wise counsel, is not merely to guard him, but to ask if this can be done.  Is it sensible?~

      Elrond considered this for a moment.

      ~I can be done, Prince of Mirkwood,~ Elrond said approvingly, ~But you must inform Thranduil and Elessar quickly.  The troops have already gathered at Dagorlad.~

      Legolas's breath caught.  ~I need a fresh horse.~

      ~I ride quickly as well,~ Arwen said, ~I will join you.~

      Legolas looked at her miserably, knowing that there was no way he could dissuade her, ~Aragorn will kill me.~

* * *

      Ceaselessly, the incredibly swift riders stormed all across Rivendell, through the bounds of Mirkwood, headed south towards Dagorlad.  The road was long, but their strength held, as time urged them to press forward.

___

Dagorlad

___

      The troops from Gondor made camp, and looked cautiously across the wide plains, where the elves from Mirkwood had also settled for the night.  The battle would begin at first light.

      Inside his tent, Aragorn was preparing his armor when a pair of his aides entered, bearing Tristan and his only other surviving brother Mikal.  Aragorn looked over at the two young men with stony eyes.

      "You must be wondering what you are doing here," Aragorn told them flatly, and they nodded meekly.

      "You began this war," said Aragorn coldly, "And so I firmly believe that you should not miss it.  No one should fight it for you, if you are not here yourselves," he turned to his aides, "Ensure that they are at the frontlines tomorrow.  Let them see what great evil it is that their vengeance has created."

      The aides nodded and left, dragging the two young men out with them.  For a moment, Aragorn stared at his armor, wishing that his heart was as strong as these.  His frustrations were mounting, his anger escalating as the dawn drew near.  

* * *

      ~Cease!~ a small band of elf soldiers commanded Legolas and Arwen, just as the skies lightened to precede the rise of the sun.  The air was thick with the morning fog, as the soldiers surrounded them.

      ~You have no business here,~ said one of the soldiers, ~Turn back now, and return to your homes.  There is danger afoot, have you not heard?~

      Legolas hastily pulled back his cloak, showing the guards his face.  ~Let me through.~

      ~S-sire!~ exclaimed the commander, scrambling for words, his eyes looking upon his Prince in surprise and pleasure, ~We thought… we thought you had abandoned us.~

      Legolas almost winced; he very nearly had.  But his fate would not allow it of him, and once he had been given the chance to aid his people, he would not allow it of himself.  Throughout his journey toward Dagorlad, his resolve strengthened, and he found his heart becoming stouter.  He finally felt as if he was doing what he ought yo have been doing.  Vagrant no more, he had a home, he had friends, he had a part to play.  King Thranduil had asked him who he was.  He now knew; he was the Prince of Mirkwood, child of the king, servant of their lands and people, but also his own person, with his own passions and desires.  He was all these, all at once.

      ~Do not tarry,~ Legolas told him, ~I must see the King.~

      ~Of course, sire,~ said the soldier, ~I shall lead you myself.~

      Legolas, Arwen and the commander moved deeper toward an emptying camp, for the troops were already assembling at the frontlines.  From the near distance, Legolas could see that Gondor was doing the same.

      _Aragorn_, he thought desperately_, please, please wait_.

      ~Ada!~ Legolas exclaimed, stopping his horse alongside his father, who was aloft upon his own steed.  Thranduil's eyes set upon him with the same measure of surprise and delight as the soldier from earlier, and of the soldiers that surrounded them.

      ~Legolas…~ Thranduil whispered reverently.

      ~Pull back,~ Legolas said quickly, ~I have found a way to end the war.  I found us a scapegoat.  I found the elf who murdered that very first human.  We can have a joint council made up of both races.  A public trial! That will quench all of our thirst for justice, surely!~

      ~It's too late,~ argued Thranduil, ~We are moments from the first strike…~

      ~It's never too late,~ pleaded Legolas, ~We do not have to strike at anyone.  No one wants this war!~

      ~I must inform Aragorn,~ Arwen said, jumpstarting her horse just as Legolas grabbed her reins.

      ~You are _not_ going across that field,~ Legolas told her forcefully, ~You want your husband to slay me and start this war all over again?~

      ~Your humor is misplaced,~ Thranduil told him inanely.

      ~_Ada_, pull back,~ Legolas said insistently.

      ~They will not listen to us!~ Thranduil exclaimed, ~We turn our backs on them and we will be attacked.  They will not listen to us!~

      ~How can they listen to us if you do not even listen to me?~ retorted Legolas, ~Please.  If you do not want to pull back then do not.  But the first strike does not come from us.  Promise me this much.  I can convince Aragorn, I swear to you I can.~

      ~Let go my reins,~ Arwen said, her horse becoming just as restless as she, ~If we do not inform him soon, this will begin and we can no longer stop it.~

      Staring at his father for a moment, Legolas released Arwen's reins and pulled on his own, riding furiously across the field towards Aragorn's camp.  This way, it was a certainty that the first strike would not come from Thranduil.

* * *

      "A rider comes!" exclaimed one of Aragorn's watchers.  The archers at the frontlines readied their aim, as the sounds grew louder and the figure—only a shadow because of the heavy morning mist—came closer.

      "It is not even dawn!" muttered one of Aragorn's aides, "deceptive elves."

      "Hold your fire," Aragorn ordered, readying his sword.

      "Hold your fire!" his commanders repeated.

      Aragorn stiffened as he watched the rider move closer towards them.  "Cease or you will be fired upon!" Aragorn yelled at the intruder.

      "Arag—"

      Two arrows were released from somewhere along the ranks of Aragorn's soldiers and met their mark,  the rider jerking backward with the impact, just as the sun rose over their heads in a blinding yellow, and pierced through the grayness of the mist.

      "I said hold your fire!" Aragorn yelled at his soldiers, everyone tensing to follow instinctively, when the first arrows were released.  The yellow light of the morning sun was cast upon them, and Aragorn looked to the approaching rider just as he slid from his horse and fell to the ground.

      "Legolas!" he exclaimed, urging his horse forward towards his fallen friend, his commanders desperately yelling to their troops that they had _better_ hold their fire, the King was in direct line of it.

* * *

      ~No!~ Thranduil whispered, eyes widening in shock as the sun rose overhead and he found his son lying on the ground, cradled by Elessar.

      ~Sire--~ one of his commanders said tentatively, before the King of Mirkwood pulled on his horse's reins and raced forward.

      "Legolas!" he screamed, "Legolas!"

      ~Hold your fire!~ his commanders yelled upon his troops, ~Hold your fire! Stay in position! HOLD YOUR FIRE!~ 

      Troops on both sides tensed; the first strike was launched, but now both Kings were in the line of fire, and the troops did not know what to do.  Commanders from both sides were yelling desperately for the soldiers to stay where they are and not to attack. 

      Arwen pushed her own horse forward, her horrified eyes never leaving the three figures that were on the battleground.

* * *

      "Legolas…" Aragorn called upon his unconscious friend, shaking him gently and urging him to respond as he held him, ~Please…~

      The arrow had pierced his body exactly where it ought to have; its end stuck out from his chest and throbbed, as if it was beating with his heart.  The other arrow was on the ground with a blood-tipped end, having just glanced his arm.  But the one that had met its mark was enough to seal his fate.

      The elf's sunken eyes fluttered open, ~Arwen went,~ he said, his voice like a sigh, ~You know her.  It's not my fault…~

      ~Shh,~ Aragorn told him soothingly, not knowing what he meant until he glanced up to see his wife riding across the fields towards him, right behind the King of Mirkwood.  He looked in panic at his soldiers, fearing they would send a volley of arrows that would take everyone whom he cared for.  But though they seemed shaken and unsure, his commanders were making all the right orders, and they all held their ground.

      Thranduil jumped from his horse before it completely stopped, and landed on the ground, crumbling to his knees beside his son.  His voice caught in his throat at the horrid sight, his eyes arrested by the arrow on his son's chest.

      ~Aragorn,~ Legolas said insistently, trying to sit up, ~I found the elf.  Trial.  _Ada_…~ he said, catching his breath at the pain of his movement, looking at his father desperately, ~You…,~ he gasped, ~You tell him…~

      ~I will, I will,~ Thranduil assured him quickly, glancing at Aragorn searchingly.  Elessar was most learned of healing between the two of them, and he gauged his son's condition by the look on Aragorn's face.

      ~It lies deep,~ Aragorn told him quietly, ~And near his heart,~ he called to his soldiers behind him, "Stand down! Sergio! My pack!"

      The sound of swords being holstered, and arrows and quivers being drawn away was reassuring.  Aragorn's commander pushed forward and handed his King what he had asked for.

      Aragorn laid Legolas flat upon his back, but the elf would not calm down.

      ~I found the elf,~ he said breathlessly, "Aragorn you're not listening…" he said disapprovingly, his eyes beginning to wander.

      ~I told you I would tell him,~ Tthranduil told his son impatiently, afraid and displeased that Legolas would not cooperate, ~Pipe down and allow him to treat you!~

      Legolas was drifting quickly, his mind beginning to wander, his eyes losing their focus.

      "We have to remove the arrow," Aragorn said, "Yet I fear that he might bleed to death."

      "There is no other choice," Arwen told him, "You know you cannot leave it there."

      Around them as they worked, they felt soldiers from both sides converge, eager to see what fate had befallen the much-adored prince.

      ~His best chance lies in Rivendell,~ Arwen said softly, watching the blood pool around them, seeping from the wound, from the corners of Legolas's mouth.

      ~I just came from there,~ Legolas murmured.

      Aragorn was looking at him with a mixture of alarm and amusement.  

      "I'm the fastest rider," Arwen said, "I will take him.  But I'm going to need a fresh horse, your strongest."

      "Mine," Aragorn insisted, nodding towards Sergio to make arrangements.  The loyal soldier bustled quickly to do as he was ordered to, trailed by his queen.  As Aragorn applied _athelas_ and bound the wound, Thranduil ordered for an escort to accompany Arwen; she may ride as fast as her horse would take her, but at least troops trailed them and she and Legolas would not be completely alone along the journey.

      "We…" Legolas struggled to say, when he found himself alone with Aragorn, "We have all been fools…"

      "I know," Aragorn said quietly, tying the bandages securely, as Legolas winced and sucked in a desperate breath.  

      "I am usually…" he sighed, "better at dodging."

      Aragorn chuckled, though his eyes watered, feeling his friend beginning to ebb, right before his very eyes.

      "Fight it," Aragorn told him quietly.

      "I promise," Legolas whispered, his eyes drifting close.  Aragorn blinked at his tears, his hands shakily seeking the pulse at his friend's neck; he sighed in relief.  

      Hurriedly but carefully, they helped Arwen and Legolas upon a horse, where her sure, strong arms secured him, and she gave her husband a determined nod, just before she shot away, trailed by Thranduil's riders.

      Aragorn watched them leave for a moment, before he turned towards Sergio, his anger renewed by the glaring possibility that his friend could still die, and he could do nothing to stop it; he had already done all that he could.

      "Who fired the shots?" he demanded darkly.

      "I did," Tristan said, overhearing.  His voice shook in fear of the King's wrath, but he admitted to his mistake, "I thought the deceptive elves have broken their word to us."

      Looking at the shattered eyes of the young, youth, Aragorn felt his anger dim, and slowly fade.  "One day," he told Tristan softly, "Your anger would claim you completely, if you do not hold yourself together."

      Aragorn looked towards Thranduil, who was glaring at the man who had shot at his son.

      "That goes for all of us," he said pointedly.

      Thranduil met his eyes, and Aragorn noticed the tears that also welled in them.  The two mighty rulers looked at each other, and their troops looked at them.  The two races found each other in such close proximity by now, suddenly at a loss as to what to do.  They glanced at each other, seeing faces, instead of just enemies categorically falling under a name; human, elf… in that moment, it ceased to matter.

      "Legolas found the elf responsible for the murder of your first human," said Thranduil, "We propose a joint council, composed of human and elf representatives to decide his fate, given his initial crime, and the grave consequences that followed his careless actions.  A public trial, that both humans and elves can watch.  We also propose an armistice, and a succeeding treaty of peace, also to be composed by our representatives.  We are willing to turn our backs on this war and leave this field, where the grass has been graced by nothing less than my son's own blood.  It is precious to me, as priceless as the peace that he has desired.  Let it be that one purchases the other."

      Aragorn took a deep breath, and extended his hand to the other ruler.  Thranduil shook it surely, and tightly.

___

Rivendell

___

      Legolas' eyes opened to a darkened room, graced by nothing but the light of the moon.  The cushions beneath his body were soft and warm, and though he felt sore and sluggish, he did not feel the burning of the wound that he knew had ultimately brought him to where he was.

      Evenstar shone like her name in the night, watching him with a smile on her lovely face, standing next to his window.

      ~You have come a long way,~ she told him softly.

      He opened his mouth to speak, found himself voiceless.  He cleared his throat and licked his lips, ~News of the war,~ he insisted stubbornly.

      She smiled at him, indulgent, and he felt like a child.  ~Aragorn said it would be the first thing you would say.  So did your father.  They each sent us an emissary to give you news.  There was no war.~

      He licked his lips again, his mind starting to drift, ~Good…~

      ~You have done well,~ Arwen said, stepping forward and brushing her cool fingers against his brow, ~Now you must rest.  Aragorn and your father would be by, after they have settled their business.  I know you would hate for them to find you still on your back.~

      ~That won't happen,~ he smiled, safe and satisfied, letting himself drown in the sensation, sleeping peacefully.

___

Dagorlad

___

      The execution was held when the sun was high up, and in the plains where from as far back as before the War of the Ring, men and elves have always held an alliance.

      The dull drums followed in the steps of the elf who had only ever been known as the Rascal, as the silent crowd of humans and elves converged to watch his demise in a mixture of satisfaction and dull bitterness.

      The council that had been formed, spearheaded by Aragorn and Thranduil, stood near the front, their eyes following the figure of the lone elf who had started the war, and whose death will surely end it.

      Close behind them, two women with curiously stern faces watched the events unfold, shrouded in their mourning black.  Lady Amalia unknowingly stood beside the widow from Arnor, the two never knowing the strange connection they had with each other, even as the shared grief and closure from the execution surrounded them and enggulfed their seasoned, mother's hearts.

      The drums rolled, as the Rascal kneeled on the ground, and leaned his head against the executioner's block.

      The axe raised and glinted in the sun.  The clean sound of his death echoed across the plains, carried by the wind.

      The people dispersed silently, finding no cheer or anger, only the resounding finality of a justice that they had long sought.

      Lady Amalia nodded at the widow beside her, when their eyes met.  They did not know each other, they most likely never would.  But they felt each other hold their breaths with the raising of that axe, and exhaled as it descended.  It was over.

___

Rivendell

___

      Aragorn found Legolas upon one of Rivendell's terraces, overlooking the majestic kingdom. A blanket hung carelessly about his shoulders, one that he knew the elf would not have bothered with if not for the insistence of Elrond, possibly even Arwen.  He had just arrived from Dagorlad, to be met at the door with complaints.

      ~His father arrives tomorrow!~ Lord Elrond had said exasperatedly, ~Does he not know that we are trying to keep him alive _at least _until then?~

      ~You can't sneak up on me,~ Legolas told him wryly, and Aragorn could hear the smile on his voice, even if the elf did not turn to face him.  Legolas's stance was more relaxed now, his voice lighter.  It's as if he has been relieved of a great burden, since the last time they had seen each other.

      ~You look well,~ Aragorn said, walking over and standing beside him, ~I sneaked up on you before.  In Mirkwood.  The stables.  Remember?~

      _How could I forget_, Legolas thought.

      "I was distracted," said Legolas lightly, "My mind is now settled."

      "I noticed," said Aragorn.

      They fell to a companionable silence, the first comfort in wordlessness that they have found between them in a long time.

      "I couldn't have ever raised a weapon against you," Legolas told him quietly, "or those that you so valiantly protect, unless there was any other way."

      "I know," said Aragorn, "And I, you."

      Legolas smiled, turning to face him.  "I guess some lessons can be unlearned, if they are not the right ones."

      "Hm?" Aragorn inquired, unsure as to what he was referring to.

      "In life, you have to be one among your own kind and content with it, or face the grief of constant loss and wandering," Legolas reminded him of their past conversation, "I think it requires a revision.  Unless you wish us both to be called rogues."

      "Our fathers have called us that," Aragorn grinned.

      "It doesn't matter who or what you are with," Legolas mused, "As long as they make you feel complete, even for just a little while.  Even just for the moment."

      Aragorn clasped his shoulder.  "I feel complete too."

      Legolas' lips curved to a mischievous smile, looking away from Aragorn and trying to keep from laughing.  "I wasn't talking about you," he dared to lie bold-facedly, "I was talking about my horse.  Oh.  And Gimli.  At least, most of the time."

      "Good lie," laughed Aragorn, "But I can feel your shoulders shaking."

THE END

OCTOBER 4, 2003 

SOME IMPORTANT NOTES:

On my reviewers.  A major thanks for your helpful words and the great encouragement, especially from Platy.  You guys make me want to just get better and work harder and faster.  Thank you so very, very, very, VERY much :) I hope you do not find my piece disappointing!

On Dagorlad.  Another of my efforts and understanding Middle-Earth geography.  This lies somewhere between Mirkwood and Gondor, right? And it means 'battle plains,' and was the site where men and elves fought against Sauron thousands of years before the War of the Ring? If not, I'm really so sorry, I try to be as accurate as I could but I always fear to stray from facts like these.

On the ending.  This story has long been near conclusion, but I could not decide on the most appropriate ending.  If you've not yet guessed, I was playing with the idea of a sacrificed hero.  The shot in the battle plains was originally meant to kill our favorite elf, but I decided against it.

On the characters.  I wanted to depict the relationship between Legolas and Aragorn, their love and trust for each other so much akin to that of brothers.  I wanted them to be strong-willed, and I also wanted to see how far I can stretch a rift between them, and how I could possibly bring them back together, while remaining in character.  I used their fierce allegiance to their respective races, and gave them the conflict of loyalties between what they were—King of humans, Prince to elves, to who they were and who they wanted to be with.  I gave them the external pressure, and hoped that I was able to convey their frustration and helplessness.  I also wanted to show their growth into the respective roles that they have to play in the rest of their lives after the War of the Ring.  This included other responsibilities, diplomacy, even politics.  On Thranduil.  I wanted him to have the strength and ferocity that he is often associated with, but I wanted this to be driven by his love and compassion.  What Legolas had said I think in Part 3 is supposed to mirror this; like a paradox.  Brutality and love, all in one complex package of a powerful character.  Arwen.  I'm not quite sure what to do with her yet, so if you have read my other works, she is barely there in my earlier pieces, and slowly starting to gain greater parts.  I think she is strong, and I wanted to convey that.  Aragorn is a great man, and he would not be with anyone who could not match him in every way, and who does not have strength on her own.  Maybe in my future stories, she will play an even greater role.

On the plot.  I hope the flow was sensible.  I truly feared that people may find it inconsistent; that one revenge would not follow the other, that such individual acts shouldn't really result in a war, that the war could not really be ended by Legolas's sacrifice or his solution.  But I hoped that if ever some people may find it unlikely, I had made the flow of events intelligible.  I thought the 'scapegoat' concept is a pretty common political strategy.  I hope I did not leave any holes! I'm always afraid of that.  Either way, I'm always willing to work it over, I guess :)

Anyway, c&c's forever welcome.  Thank you for taking the time to read my story :)__


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